Forever United
by Annelikestowrite
Summary: Part III of Forever series following Kershean and Samara through life, love and misunderstandings. Life is difficult particularly when you're trying to save the world.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Casablanca Morocco does not look like it does in the movies. Cars, rickshaws, dilapidated cabs, and rusty city buses along with plenty of passengers line the streets creating a cornucopia of humanist music-a cacophony of the sounds of people pushing, shoving, struggling to breathe before they all suffocate. There is no Rick's Café Americain. There _is_ a poster sold at nearly all the tourist stands of Ingrid Bergman's face pasted in front of Le Royan the ritziest street in town. On her face is a secret smile, like the Mona Lisa. Travelers and locals alike love that poster. Never mind that she never set foot in Casablanca or even Paris during the making of the movie.

There is another poster, dusty and significantly smaller than Ingrid's that sits off to the side. The sun sets in the background, pollution heavy in the air, and a mass of market stands are pictured. In the background if you squint, you can see two merchants waving their hands at passer-byers trying to sell their wares. In the hand of one is a small figurine, carved elephant ivory from the looks of it. Illegal in every other corner of the globe but not in Africa. The men's faces are grizzled, spittle flies from the mouth of one-midair and eternal now that the picture has been captured. I like to look at it, guessing where that drop of liquid will land. Amidst the women shoppers, perhaps? On the nose of the second merchant? Every time I look at the picture, the guess changes.

That is Casablanca.

Mosques and Cathedrales rise out of the humanity, beacons to the human God. A few blocks from the Port, where the smell of fish has permeated every square inch of the area surrounding the fish canning factories, there is a small café. The building is blackened from the soot of the old steam boats, and the Mqualli is a rich and spicy ginger broth. The smell almost cancels out the fish. Almost.

That is Casablanca.

Above the café is a small apartment, perhaps 10 feet square, a pseudo hostel always with an extra bed free, no matter how many boarders there already are. Mohammad Dai takes all kinds, no questions asked, which was particularly fortuitous for me.

When I showed on his door step after receiving a useful tip from a dock worker, he welcomed me in, gave me a lumpy futon and directed me to the only available spot in the room, a smallish corner, once a clothes closet as the pegs on the ceiling indicated. Body odor was prevalent, people snored, scratched themselves, and passed gas in their sleep. I was here. Morocco.

And one of the few boarders that spoke Colloquial French. Mohammad hired me as one of his busboys with promotion opportunities when I proved myself. We agreed that he would pay me 10 Dirhams per day. My rent was half that if I wanted unlimited access to the bathroom. I did.

I had been there two days. 48 hours. 2880 minutes. I know because I counted every single one. On the hour a small clock in the corner of the café would chime a single mournful ding, and I would remember.

One week, plus a handful of days since I had last seen Kershean: Since I had left him on the train platform, and flustered, climbed onto the train at the urging of the Conductor. The train had begun moving before I had even taken my seat. I didn't get to see if Kershean still stood on the platform. I didn't know if he stayed and watched the train pull away. I had been so consumed with finally going somewhere, and the thrill of doing it that I hadn't thought much of him, except for the occasional bouts of loneliness. When he said he would wait, I made my decision. Because he promised. And I believed him.

By 2881 minutes, I was fidgety. Two American hikers were seated in the corner, they had been there for some time, their Fantas bubbling away and barely touched on the table in front of them. The heat was miserable at this time of day in Casablanca. They were wisely waiting for twilight to move along. Mohammad would not mind. A few Moroccan dock workers sat talking in their native language, their voices low with succinct flowing speech. They had ordered long ago. Their food consumed, they sipped their coffees in between conversation.

And there was nothing for me to clean.

It was these moments, bored and alone that I thought of him. Kershean. Tall, dark, handsome, with black eyes that could see into my soul. Who was good and kind, and kissed like I meant the world to him. Awkward, slightly chubby, me. Though to be fair, I had lost some weight over the 10 days or so I had been gone. An aversion to fish will do that do a girl. And low liquid assets. I was living off vegetarian curries. They weren't as tasty as they sounded. Moroccan's adored their fish.

I wondered if Kershean liked fish. What would it have been like if he would have come with me? If I would have stayed. Surely I wouldn't be this lonely. I was pretty sure that he had meant that kiss. Pretty sure.

I had to decide what I was supposed to do about that. As it was happening, as I had lived the moment it had been so beautiful. But emotions can be fallible. I had picked Daemon because of what he had done to my emotions. What if it was happening again? And what if the aching memory of him was some type of representation of repressed homesickness? And I had channeled it into the feelings I was pretty sure I had for him?

But then why did I miss him so desperately; it clutched at my stomach-the loneliness-it made my bones ache. Surely that wasn't normal. I remembered the smell of him, pine, fresh air, and something I couldn't name but was undoubtedly Kershean. It was calming to think of, but detrimental to realize how far away he was. All because of my choices. It made me wonder what I was doing in Morocco. I was terribly worried I had made the wrong choice.


	2. Chapter 1

_**I seem to have trouble writing angst…**_

**Chapter 1**

He didn't want her to go. But he couldn't tell her that. He wouldn't dare tell her that. Because _she_ wanted to go. He could see it on her face. He could see it in her excited step as she tromped off the mountain beside him. He admitted that he had often been wrong about Samara, but this he knew.

So he wasn't too terribly surprised when she boarded the train even after _The Moment_. To call it just a kiss, wouldn't be enough to describe it. It would be like calling a sunset over the ocean subpar, or comparing the sheer size of a Boeing aircraft to that of a sparrow. _The moment_ was wonderful. It was bliss. The taste of her as fleeting as it was, incredible. Better than anything else he had ever tasted. If a smile from her offered without hesitation, had been the happiest moment of his life, that one kiss had skyrocketed him straight to the heavens.

Even now lying on the cold hard ground, he could not forget the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against his. It made him consequentially warm and tingly. Never did he think it could be this way.

All because of her. He sighed softly, trying not to awake the others. Their sleep would be fleeting enough without his interrupting melancholy. The Exium Solus broken up into groups of 5's and 6's were on their way to Eastern Siberia, to one of the far corners of the earth. Only Antarctica was considered more remote. Few visited, the area, and fewer still claimed it as a home. He and Sirex were the scouts of the party, though the others could of course hold their own in a pinch. Sirex was the only female scout among the Exium Solus. Stronger than most men, yet still womanly. She could fell a deer with one arrow from 50 meters, and then be seen mourning its abbreviated life. She and Samara had much in common.

Immediately his thoughts shifted back; to the woman that he would wait for indefinitely if necessary. He hoped it wouldn't be that long. But he knew of her indecision. He would not follow her again. He would not impose on her. It was time for her to make a resolution. He felt he had grown in the last months of their acquaintance. It was time for her to do the same. And if she decided that she didn't want him, he would let her go. By the demon it would kill him, almost literally. Certainly he would never be cheerful, never be the same again.

Sirex awoke beside him, indiscernible except for the opening of her eyes, and now they glittered in the moonlight. "It is time to move again." Her voice wasn't loud, but still the others heeded, all rising without complaint. They had been sleeping for a few hours deep in the brush; save Kershean.

It had only been a se'en night since he had last seen Samara, and he had only slept once. Since he'd commanded his feet to remain still on the train platform. His sharp eyes had seen her move awkwardly through the train aisles. And still he couldn't move away. The train pulled away, and he lost sight of her, and he didn't turn away. The train disappeared around a bend, the platform cleared, and finally the smell of the metal track colliding with the metal wheels dissipated, and then, then he turned away.

He walked back to camp, completely exhausted, all emotion spent. He slept that night. He could hardly avoid it even if he had tried. He had hoped for an escape. It was not to be. He knew what he was doing to his body was wrong. But he couldn't allow sleep to come. Not anymore. For in sleep would be the dreams, and the dreams would be of her. Blissful, or nightmarish, they were all the same, reminding him of what he didn't have. She would be running from him, or standing just out of his reach, laughing at him, or without him. It was enough to drive a man to find an obliging bus and stand in front of it.

He shook out his legs, clearing his pants of pine needles and debris and gathered his pack onto his back. It was heavy and weighed on him, but he was grateful for the distraction. His protesting shoulders would overrun the voices in his head. The further he moved away from the train station in Grenoble, nay, the further he moved away from Morocco (because that was where she would be by now), the louder they became.

He knew Sirex was irritated with him. She was taking up his slacking of his duties. And she wasn't okay with it. Sirex was an interesting case. A warrior, accepted as such, though she was a woman. But a real woman she could never be. The backwards thinking of the council had forbidden her to have children. She was needed elsewhere, she was needed alone. Perhaps he should have considered; but no. That was not the battle for him to take up with them. He hoped that she would take the opportunity herself when she was ready.

"Kershean, there is a small town a few miles away. I can smell the smoke." He acknowledged her with a nod of his head, and off he went to see if they would need to circumvent it.

To call it a town was a vast overstatement. It was merely a collection of houses, goat herding huts from the look of them. They were in the highlands of the Croatian countryside. Far up in the hills, the goats bleated, and their neck bells rang as they twisted in their sleep. A single hut had a twist of smoke, a kitchen fire it was not, used instead for heating through the spring night. All else was calm. He whistled, one short and two long sounds. Like the call of the Whippoorwill, and only the ears of the Exium Solus would hear the difference.

They came through the trees, and together they traversed the village and disappeared once again.

Kershean looked up to the moon as it made its descent behind the mountains. Perhaps an hour had passed since he had last thought of her. It was no good. He wouldn't be whole again, not until she came back to him_. If_ she came back. She had not promised. That was the only thing he had wished for and not gotten. He had asked her to come back to him, and she hadn't said a word. She had heard him, he knew because her steps faltered slightly. But she hadn't said anything. That had hurt the most.

He tried to think of other things even as he could feel the pain in his chest, his heart trying to remain intact, even through the ache. His brain tried to distract-to keep the organ from exploding in anguish-reminding him of the last council meeting. Mostly it had concerned the move, how to allocate the scouts logistically. But there had been a small addendum, hardly worth mentioning in the council's eyes.

"_And farms have been scouted along the way? Will they sustain us?" Adar asked._

"_Yes," Master Kennon answered._

_Kershean was somewhat distraught by such plans. Now was the difficult time for the farmers, sustaining themselves from their nearly dwindled food storages and eating only a few of their older livestock. They would nearly starve themselves until the warmer weather set in, and vegetables and animals were more plentiful. And the Exium Solus would be stealing what little they had!_

"_With respect sirs, don't you think it would be better if we took most of our supplies with us in our packs?"_

_His father looked at him oddly, but Kershean stood tall, "The human farmers will sustain us, Kershean, I see no need to change how we do things. They have aided us for a long time. They will continue to do so."_

_The matter was closed as far as Adar was concerned , but Kershean would not let it go, "But not entirely, sirs. We have always paid for a portion of our sustenance, and we have made a goodly portion as well with our own hands. We cannot deprive the humans of so much."_

"_And why not?" Thankfully his father's voice was still amused, "We are their superiors in strength…"_

"_That may be father, but one thing the humans value is monetary gains and losses. If we take so much of their crops, they will notice, they will want to know why." He looked at each member of the tribe singularly, trying to impress on them the consequences of their actions. _

In the end, the council had agreed to pay for a goodly portion of the needed supplies to keep the passages of the tribe secret. Kershean felt gratitude that at least the humans would be mostly recompensed for their hard work. Perhaps in Siberia, things would be the same. Maybe after a time, he could convince them to pay for all of their goods. It wasn't much but it was a start towards more sympathetic dealings with humans.

The rest of the week passed quietly for Kershean. The Exium Solus had long ago learned to travel silently, to read the expressions on each other's faces often in place of conversation. Sirex and Kershean communicated thusly, eliminating the need for speech, when they moved through greater populated areas. As they crossed into Russia, the scarcity of humans grew greater still. They no longer worried about only traveling in the evenings and early mornings. There was an excitement coursing through all of them, to finally arrive, to make it to the end of their journey. And all of them were tiring of sleeping on the ground, and eating non-perishable food.

Kershean was grateful that his group wasn't the first to make the trip. There would be a few cooks already up in the Altai mountains, setting up the dining hall, and already cooking probably. Kershean tried to avoid thinking of the food because it only served to make him irritable, but it was better than thinking of…other things. Other things with jet black hair and expressive eyes.

So he thought about bread, warm fluffy bread right out of the oven, and fresh cream for spreading. And tangy clover flower ale. By the demon, was jerky all they had left to eat? He snapped a small aspen tree in half.


	3. Chapter 2

**BIG 'thank you' to all of those who have favorited my stories or put them on alert! (it feels just as good as a review when I see them in my inbox!)**

**Chapter 2**

The noise was so loud-the neighboring trees trembled, and the sound reverberated against the mountains-that Sirex determined that it was wisest to send him on ahead. The human population might be sparse, but they would take notice of a forest of demolished trees.

First she determined to have a little talk with him, "Kershean, I sympathize, I truly do."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he managed to growl out.

"Samara." She stated matter-of-factly.

His mouth dropped open, before he glared at her.

She ignore him, "But I'm not here to be a shoulder to cry on. You are endangering the group. You must see that!"

He hung his head, "I know."

"You have a choice before you, then. Either go after her, or find your way to the Altai Mountains alone."

"I cannot go after her."

He wanted to talk about it. Sirex had not expected that, "And why not?"

"She must be allowed to make her own decisions."

It was the wisest thing Sirex had ever heard a male Neanderthal say. Her respect for Kershean rose. "Then go on ahead, find our people, and wait."

"And what if she doesn't come back?"

"Believe that she will someday. Now go."

So he went.

It was much quicker traveling by himself especially because he denied his body rest, and nourishment. He threw away the jerky, knowing he would rather go hungry than consume it. The camp when he found it, was not what he was expecting. The Altai mountains were much more forbidding than the Alps, the only available land mass was situation between two high cliffs, on an ancient glacier. There were no ice caves in sight. The few members who had already arrived, were disjointed and bewildered and completely without shelter.

Kershean was one of the first council members to arrive, and he relished the opportunity to take a leadership role. He had passed a pine forest a few miles below the glacier. Though they would be tough to get to the camp would need the wood. He made rough sketches of the Old Woman's hut, trying to remember how all of the pieces had fit together. The Old Woman and her hut would be one of the last to arrive. Perhaps they could build similar huts?

He wisely decided that the best leader was the one who worked alongside his people. He and Hem began their trip down the mountain in high spirits. But those spirits quickly dampened as they surveyed the trees. Most grew off of cliffs and directly out of rocks. There wouldn't be enough trees for huts. Not without risking a fall, and a life spent. Kershean would not risk losing his own. Not when he was unsure as to where he stood with Samara.

Plans had to be revised. Hem was eager for a chance to prove himself. "What about the American Indians? Don't they live in totems, or teepees or something?"

Kershean remembered seeing pictures of such things. "But we don't have enough animal skins."

"It is nearly summer, why not use pine boughs. We can find skins before the winter."

Kershean sat cross-legged on the ice and thought about it. Didn't he frequently use pine needles as insulation against the cold? It could work. "How many trees do you think we will need for one teepee?"

Hem looked at the trees. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what was possible. They would have to settle for somewhere in between. "I think a half dozen would make a suitable shelter."

Kershean nodded, "And perhaps the old woman would be willing to share her hut once she arrives." He looked around the forest, "We would still need dozens of trees."

Hem was still determined to be enthusiastic, "Yes, but we only need a couple now. Once more of our people arrive, then we'll be able to get to more trees. Let us convince the council that it is a good idea first."

It was tough work, but it gave Kershean an outlet for his frustration, and it didn't take more than a couple of days before he and Hem had managed to drag a dozen trees up to the glacier. With the combined effort of the others back at camp cleaning the boughs from the trees wasn't nearly so taxing, and soon they had poles erected and tied off into the crude shapes of the American Indians' teepees. They attached the boughs with nails and more ropes, and then sat back to survey their work. They weren't perfect, and there was plenty of reasons to expect that they wouldn't offer enough fortification from the cold during the nights, but at least they would provide shade from the sun, and protection from the arctic breeze. They were solid, and the camp was happy, and Kershean felt good. He had accomplished something. Since there were few Exium Solus, they all piled into both teepees sleeping on top of each other, trying to leech off of each other's body heat.

In the morning, they arose with the sun, and decided that the teepees were a success. It would not be long before Sirex came in with her group. They would need at least one more shelter before then.

He was grateful that the cooks could take care of building their own fires and ovens. _They_ were already up, and the breads were cooking. He sniffed the air appreciatively. It was going to be a good day.

It wasn't as good of a day as he had expected. Another group did arrive, but it was not Sirex. Instead it was Samara's father and Master Kennon. While he was pleased to see his mentor, he could not say the same for Samara's father. Pithe could only remind him of Samara.

Especially because his first words were of his daughter, "You shouldn't have let her go Kershean. She should be here now."

He smiled thinly. It wouldn't do to bring up Pithe's missing mate, or the fact that Pithe had been unsuccessful in stopping Samara himself. Instead he settled for a little white lie, "She gave me her word that she would return."

"Yes! But when?"

He shook his head and walked away, trying to ignore Pithe's smug look. And then later, Pithe had looked over the teepees and declared them adequate but that more were needed, and of greater size as well. Never mind that he hadn't seen the pines, never mind that he probably couldn't drag a single tree up the mountain. At least Master Kennon was willing and able to help Hem and Kershean gather more trees.

"This is too dangerous," Master Kennon said. It was the closest he would ever come to demeaning one of the ideas of the elders, only being an honorary elder himself.

"Yes, but perhaps with three people?" Hem had the uncanny capability to remain ever positive.

In this instance, he was right. They rigged up a type of lasso, and threw it up and over a sharp rock. Then the three of them climbed up one of the peaks. There were more trees here. Enough to make one more teepee. It would have to be enough for now. Cutting down the trees, transportation, and building would take the remainder of the day.

In the end, though he complained, Pithe welcomed the new teepee, claiming it for him and Master Kennon. That left the few remaining in their group, to bunk with the others. And left Kershean decidedly uncomfortable. There was an elbow from one of the cooks lodged in his right earlobe, and a knee from an undetermined source in one of his kidneys. He climbed out of the teepee with his customary dexterity, hearing a few mumbles of anger at the disturbance. It was a cold night, but after the stifling atmosphere of the teepee, it felt wonderful. He rolled himself up in his furs, and promptly fell asleep.

A few more days went by, a couple of more teepees were built, and more members of the tribe arrived. Sirex and her fellow travelers finally made their appearance. Their route had encountered a late spring snow storm.

Adar arrived with the Old Woman and her hut, and together, he, Pithe and Master Kennon constructed it. Then they closeted themselves inside for the rest of the day, leaving Kershean to wonder what was being discussed. He didn't have to wait long.

Finally they emerged and Adar approached him, "Pithe has told me that it was you and Hem's idea to build the teepees. I must say, they look sturdy. Your logic was sound. Do you think you could construct more?"

"I am unsure. Hem believes we can, though he agrees that we have gathered much of the trees that are available already. I wouldn't want to cut into the firewood supply, and most of the pines are too dangerous to reach."

"What do you propose? We will need more space than we have."

Kershean was stunned into silence. His father wanted his advice? "I contemplated talking with the Old Woman. Her hut is large, perhaps she would be willing to share with a few of the single women?"

Adar frowned, his lips pursing, his eyes narrowing as he thought on it. "Yes," finally he began hesitantly, "I expect that is an option. Among our numbers, there are a goodly amount who would benefit from such condescension. Perhaps the elder council members would appreciate it."

Kershean wanted to protest. There were no elder council members, unless you counted all of the council, save himself. Once again, they were usurping their authority in a way that he couldn't be comfortable with. Though if they all shared with the old woman, there would be more teepees for the others. Adar had claimed one as his own the moment he had arrived, and Master Kennon and Pithe were still sharing another. It left all of the others cramped and uncomfortable. Except for Kershean who was still sleeping outside in the elements.

So he didn't protest. He was hoping for more comfortable accommodations for Samara when she returned. He didn't dare believe that she would be willing to share with him. That would be too much of a dream rather than reality.

His father, unlike Pithe was willing to help collect trees for building more teepees, so together they along with Hem, Master Kennon, and Franken made their way off the glacier. They weren't as productive as Kershean would have liked, Franken and Adar spent most of the morning arguing over how best to reach the trees. Franken's idea was sound, but Adar refused to listen to a mere gatherer.

The kitchens had requested more firewood, so Kershean and Hem set about gathering the few branches that had broken off from bigger trees. There wasn't much, but at least the trip to camp and then back to the trees kept them away from the two fighting Neanderthals.

The situation had calmed when Hem and Kershean returned, and finally they came to an agreement. They would Adar's method for the trees growing directly out of the rocks, and Franken's suggestion for those growing in groves higher up the cliffs.

It took days to amass enough sufficient poles, but finally, they had enough timber and boughs to construct the remaining needed teepees. The single men would have to share a larger teepee, and the single women as well would have to share a second larger teepee, but at least there would be enough room for all of them.

He returned to the camp late in the twilight hour, exhausted, but happy to have carried his point of constructing teepees, and ecstatic that it would be the last evening for him sleeping without adequate shelter. There was still no sign of Samara, and Pithe had started to hint that perhaps it was time for Kershean to go fetch her. She hadn't been gone for much longer than a month. If she wasn't back by now, Kershean didn't expect to see her any time soon. He felt rejected, because he knew he had been rejected to a certain extent. Her world trip had been a success.

He laid down and closed his eyes. Sleeping now for him was simply a way to escape from his struggles during the day. He always fell asleep completely exhausted and spent. And he didn't dream. At least there was that.

And so, the next morning, it came as a surprise to him to awaken rather early, feeling the lightest of touches on his cheek. His eyes opened immediately to the vision before him.

"Samara?" She was tanner and thinner than he remembered her. And she was smiling at him softly, even as her face reddened in embarrassment.

She withdrew her hand, "Sorry I didn't mean to wake you. You looked so…adorable, sleeping out here."

"Adorable" wasn't a word he understood, and from the way she said it, he wasn't sure he appreciated the sentiment. It sounded like something you would call a cat, or a dog. Perhaps a fluffy hare. And everyone knew what happened to hares.

"You're back," was the only thing he could think to say.


	4. Chapter 3

**I'm feeling kind of down guys. Is anyone still reading this series? It doesn't look like it. I'm thinking about abandoning it, ending it after this chapter…I'll write the rest of course but it would be purely for my own enjoyment.**

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**Chapter 3**

And she _was_ back, a bit disheveled from long distance travel. But back all the same. She hadn't said much to him except a murmured, "yes," before the others had begun waking up. Having the prodigal daughter return was both a buoyant to their spirits, and gave them something to gossip about later. They all surrounded her vying after her traveling tales.

Kershean could hardly help watching her talking with each and every one, wondering if she would ever talk as easily with him as she could with them. Eventually the others had heeded the call to breakfast, leaving Samara alone.

But not for long. Samara had looked around, avoided his eye, and finally spotted Artha, standing at the camp fringes. She smiled brilliantly and made her way over to the weaver. Now they were sitting side by side, their heads close together. Samara was rubbing the palms of her hands on her pants. And she was babbling away. She was nervous. What did she have to be nervous about? She wasn't leaving again, was she? Had she run out of money, only to come back for more? Was that what she was talking to Artha about? Maybe trying to see if Artha could offer her some more jewelry to sell?

He wanted to speak to her, nay, he needed to speak to her, but it was as if a great chasm was between them, larger than the distance between Siberia and Morocco. She might as well have been on the moon. And so he watched her carefully, waiting. Waiting for what, he didn't exactly know. But he didn't dare hope. Not when his whole world could be crushed with a single negative word from her. He could only stand to look at her for brief moments though, before the despair would take over again and he would be forced to look away. How was he to know it was in those moments that she found her own eyes drifting towards him, wondering why he was avoiding her. If only they could get a moment alone!

And after Artha, Sirex who had just returned from her own breakfast requested a moment with Samara. She spoke carefully in such low tones, that Kershean couldn't even catch a single word. It was frustrating. They had never spoken to each other before! What was so important? He needn't have bothered wondering for suddenly, both girls looked up at him, one entirely too smug, the other giggling behind her hand. He nearly went to her then, threw her over his shoulder and dragged her away. That is what the old Kershean would have done. He only restrained himself by walking away. He looked in on the cooks to check if they needed anymore firewood.

Tisha, the head cook, looked at him oddly. _Yes I did get you more firewood just the other day!_ She denied his request. He looked so forlorn that she smuggled him a few of the baked eggs that had been served for breakfast. That at least brightened his day. Until he remembered that they were a favorite of Samara's too. Immediately his mood plummeted. Why was she avoiding him? She had been so close, so briefly, and then she was gone. It was as if that morning, those few moments were a figment of his imagination. Perhaps he had dreamed them up?

Maybe he could do a climb and get some more trees. Master Kennon and Franken had insisted that there were a few trees that though looking easy to reach, they were liable to get someone killed just getting to them. Kershean thought that it seemed like a nice way to go. If he couldn't get the girl, what was the point?

He had some dignity left however and even with those maudlin thoughts he made sure to rig a sturdy rope over one of the larger pines. Hand over hand, he pulled himself up parallel to the cliff. A strong breeze blew halting his progress, he hung indefinitely as he waited for it to subside, desperately holding on, even as his body collided into the rock face. He could feel the skin tearing open, and he could smell his own blood. He hoped there were no predators at this altitude.

With the breeze came a scent that he would have recognized anywhere. One of his own people was near. A female. Perhaps it was Tisha, or one of her helpers coming to tell him that they needed wood after all. He couldn't decide if he should descend to get the message, continue on higher, or stay where he was.

He was still debating when he heard, "What exactly are you doing?"

He nearly lost his grip and plummeted, "Samara?"

"Did you? Um…Are you okay?"

He made an odd kind of a noise, "Of course! Just fine. Can I do anything for you?"

She choked on a laugh, "Actually yeah. I uh," she hesitated. Even from where he was hanging, he could see her face red with embarrassment. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

"If you're busy I can come back."

"No!" He did lose his handholds then and slid down the ropes about 10 feet or so. _By the demon! That was going to leave marks._ "No," he managed to say more calmly, "Now is a perfect time." He hoped.

She sat on a rock and watched him as he descended. He tried to look experienced, but his stomach was in knots and his arms were shaking. He was grateful to finally feel the compacted snow and ice under his feet a few moments later.

He moved towards her slowly not wanting to scare her. She looked heavenly. Better than he had ever imagined her. And he thought his dreams had been pretty incredible. It looked liked she'd had a bath. Her hair was still a bit wet, and separated into tiny braids and done up around her head. Her face was cleaned, and a bit red from the scrubbing. She looked young. He tried to remember that she was. He would not rush her. No matter how frustrating it was.

"I went to Morocco you know?"

He nodded bemused, "So you made it then?"

"Took me a week. I found a merchant captain that let me stowaway in one of their storage bays for a few of Artha's bracelets. I guess he had more daughters than he knew what to do with. And the bracelets would make excellent presents when he returned home."

He smiled at her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, "I'm rambling. I promised myself I wouldn't do that…Ugh. Anyway, I got to Morocco. It was dirty and hot, but the air was alive with… something. Survival I guess. Have you ever heard the phrase, 'if you can make it here you can make it anywhere?'"

Kershean managed to shake his head, his eyes still watching her carefully, wondering what her purpose was in all of this.

"It's an American phrase. Perhaps it loses something in the translation…Vindaloo curry! I'm doing it again!"

She scratched at her red face for a moment. "So I met this guy at the docks. He told me about this other guy named Mohammad. He takes in stragglers, let's them stay at his flat for practically free. If he likes you he might even let you work in his café. Mohammed liked me," she stopped again, looking at the ground as if stunned by that fact.

"You're very likeable."

Her head shot up, it was the first thing he had said since she had begun her story. At least he was keeping up with her. She was grateful that he was paying attention. Her heart rate picked up when she thought on the words. Did that mean she was _very likeable_ to him?

Had he said the wrong thing? She'd stopped talking, and now she was just staring at him. He sat in agony for an eternity until he saw something in her eyes that changed, just for a moment before a small little smile grew wider and wider on her face, "Thank you."

He smiled back. "So Mohammad gave you a job?"

"Right. Yes, my story." She shook her head, and tugged at one of her braids for a moment, "I started working, saving some of my Dirhams, dreaming of where I would go next. And for one day, things were wonderful. Then this guy showed up. He had black hair, just like yours, about your height. He sat in the corner, his back to the counter. I snuck out and around to the front." Suddenly she blinked rapidly and he could smell the salty tears in her eyes. "But it wasn't you! I didn't realize what disappointment was, until that moment. Not disappointment in you. In myself." Her voice choked, and she paused for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes, "Why had I left, when when…I only wanted to be with you?"

He was before her in a second, kneeling in the snow, inches away from her anguished face. He lifted up her chin and looked deeply into her eyes, right into her soul, "Don't be sad."

She snorted, "But I could have ruined everything! And…and…wretched creature that I am, it's too awful; but I have to confess it anyway. I think deep down I hoped you would come after me."

"I couldn't do that."

"I know. It was my turn." Her long soft fingers were suddenly at his own face, each finger delicately tracing the skin of his cheeks. "I don't know if I love you. I'm not sure what that feels like yet, but I want to try and learn. With you. That's what I came all the way back to say."

And then _she_ kissed him, and he really was in heaven. Her lips were soft as he remembered, and they tasted of baked eggs. He wanted to consume her.

He pulled away after a second of bliss, because there was just something he had to know, "What were you talking about with Sirex?"

"Oh that?" she smiled. "Sirex was telling me not to wait too long before I put you out of your misery."

"Sirex is a smart woman."

"Yes she is," her eyes half closed as she regarded him. "But enough about Sirex. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"Indeed we were," and they didn't bother talking for the rest of the afternoon. Well not about Sirex anyway.

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**The end? You decide.**


	5. Chapter 4

**I can admit when I am wrong. And I was wrong. **

**Apparently I still have readers, though I appear to have more readers than reviewers which would actually mean that by ****not**** reviewing you all are telling me that you ****don't want**** me to continue. **

**But for the ten or so of you who left kind words, I just can't leave you hanging!, so instead of having you send me email addresses so I can get the rest to you, I'll just post here. For now ;) - for all the others who didn't review, get cracking! Even if it's just a smiley face because you liked it, I'll take it!**

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**Chapter 4**

Pithe unlike some would have supposed, was not a happy Neanderthal. He couldn't quite pinpoint the beginning of his disappointments. His whole life-the entire millennia he had existed-seemed to be filled with discontent. Running from the humans. Finding his old camp and the smell of rotting bodies and burning huts. The mindless boredom of living eternally.

Perhaps someone of a less sedentary nature would have enjoyed it, but Pithe was not one of those. Even when his own group of dreamers had melded seamlessly with the warriors. Mostly, though there were advantages, he decided that it had still been a poor idea. The warriors had assumed command of everything. Pithe fleetingly had a mate, someone who seemed his equal.

Lanta.

He tried not to think about her. Because from her sharp tongue had come Samara, the spitting image of her mother in looks and spirit. Able to affect conceivably, even the elements with her acerbic wit and pert opinions.

For just a moment, when Pithe had seen Daemon offer a solution to the human problem, he had been happy. Samara had been docile, allowing Daemon to rule her. Life was as it should be. But for only a moment.

Daemon's treachery didn't hit Pithe as hard as it had the others. The threat _had_ been neutralized, so why did it matter that Daemon had been behind it? After sitting through Daemon's trial and watching his execution, Pithe knew he had to keep such thoughts to himself. He would bide his time, perhaps win over Kershean who had seemed equally effected by his brother's execution and banishment.

But blast that boy! He wasn't reacting the way Pithe had envisioned. Samara had returned on her own? Impossible. Why hadn't Kershean gone after her? Daemon had. And now that she was back, why were they avoiding each other? He had watched Samara, irritated that she seemed to be talking to everyone but Kershean. And Kershean? He had stood at the edge of things, doing nothing!

And finally, the moment had come when Samara was left alone at last! He looked over to where Kershean had been. The boy was gone. Samara was alone and looking vulnerable.

"Samara, my dear how are you?" He asked.

She whipped around to face him, her black eyes like hot coals, her lip lifting in a sneer, "Hello father."

He ignored her attitude, there were other ways to deal with her, "Was the trip all you had hoped for?"

She was struggling with something, and he hoped she wouldn't say it. He wished again that she had been more like the other women of the tribe instead of resembling her mother so closely, "It was a good trip. Morocco was beautiful."

He saw her eyes darting around the camp. She was looking for Kershean! He would leave her to it, "I have some important business. I will see you later my _daughter._" He hoped that if she remembered anything of their talk, she would remember that she was his daughter, and there were certain things expected of her.

Perhaps it would make her remember that she was destined for the next leader. And that would make her seek him…Kershean out. For a while that afternoon he thought perhaps it had happened, Kershean and Samara were nowhere to be found. He imagination ran rampant with lots of happy thoughts in that moment. Kershean and Samara having children. Perhaps they would have more than one! And those children would have children. A plan would be made, it would be absolutely brilliant! The world would be theirs.

He saw Kershean walking back into camp, frustration wafting off him in waves. Pithe frowned deeply. Where was Samara? Hadn't she found him? He heard loud laughter coming from the kitchens. And Samara emerged. Had she been at lunch this whole time?

What was she doing here all alone? She should be with Kershean, manipulating him into caring for her again, as she had the entire camp. Pithe was aware of her golden girl status. It made him feel obsolete. He didn't like that. He would never waste away like the Old Woman. He was meant to see Armageddon! To participate in the humans' downfall. To be a part of the new world, cleansed and free of the parasitic nature of Homo Sapiens' once again.

He eyed Samara and Kershean, back and forth, back and forth. They did not look at each other. Their forms didn't even gravitate towards the other's sphere. They were too separate; he would have to do something about that.

"Samara my daughter," his approach scattered the other Exium Solus around her. "Would you consider joining me for dinner this evening?"

Samara stared at him for a long moment, her eyebrows wrinkling. "Alright father," she finally said.

She waited for him to say more, but Pithe gave her a curt nod instead, and then spun on his heel. He would talk to Kershean about also joining him for dinner, but not when Samara was around to see it.

And he did just that, "My boy, it would be wonderful if you would share your dinner hour with me. I would truly enjoy hearing of the camp improvements you have been making." Which young buck didn't want to drone on about themselves? Pithe expected that he could spend one evening in such a manner, listening to the boy's impertinences.

He pulled Kershean into the kitchens and settled on one of the better pillows. Plush and soft as a cloud. The talk was inane, Kershean said little_, probably still mooning over my wayward daughter_, Pithe thought. Can't she see the power that is within our grasp? He had just finished praising Kershean's teepees again, when he caught the boy's eyes stray to the door.

Samara had arrived, "Ah, daughter, you are here! Look who is joining us?"

She neither frowned, nor smiled. In fact her face was completely expressionless. Pithe turned to see how Kershean was taking the news. His face mirrored Samara's in blandness. Pithe led Samara to the pillow directly beside Kershean, and she took it, though he was aware that she sat carefully to avoid any physical contact with her intended.

And so began one of the most painful meals of Pithe's life.

The meat was tasteless as he watched Kershean and Samara comfortably ignore one another. It was as if the other simply didn't even exist! He saw Adar and Master Kennon frowning a distance away. Pithe did not want to be blamed for this discord. He leaned in towards his daughter, hoping she would alternately lean towards Kershean, but she stayed still. For the first time in her life she listened attentively to her father and blocked out all other distractions. By the time Pithe consumed his fruit dessert, he felt like crying. That was a human reaction, and a _female_ human reaction, but he couldn't help the powerlessness that was engulfing him. And he was out of ideas.

Things did not change the next day.

Nor the next.

A general council meeting was approaching, the first since the entire tribe had arrived. Things would be discussed to determine the future of the Exium Solus. Pithe was decided. He would force Samara and Kershean together if he had to.

His mind was made up, his teeth gritted, and then something happened that left him frankly gapping like an aquatic beast. Samara and Kershean arrived at the council meeting together. He began to grin-even though by rights Samara should not be there-until Kershean crossed the room to sit by his father, and Samara approached himself. He ground his teeth. If Samara noticed, she ignored it. And rather well too. He saw that Adar was similarly annoyed at his seat across the circle as Kershean talked to an elder on his left.

No one looked at Samara, save to glare, and negative waves of energy were wafting off every male council member in droves, but still Samara ignored it, sitting with her head held high, as she listened to the men discuss crop gathering and scout rotation.

Samara had begun to finally seem affected, she was tugging lightly on a loose string of her shirt, Pithe was riveted on the action, waiting for something to happen. Then suddenly something did happen.

Kershean rose to his feet, walked across the room and sat directly beside her. She turned her entire body towards his and smiled encouragingly. He took her hand squeezing it slightly, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and began speaking.

And the shocked men could do nothing but listen. What had happened? And right under their noses too?

"Elders, it is time that we address new plans to deal with the human extermination." His voice was strong, each word succinct. A collective sigh sounded; finally Kershean was being the leader they all had hoped for!

"Daughter-of-the-dreamers Samara, has agreed to be my mate, to have my children, to serve our people."

A loud cheer sounded, and Pithe looked around at the assembled elders all beaming and talking excitedly. It was about time. He and all of the others missed the expression on Kershean's face. Not quite smugness, but the boy _had_ anticipated this exact reaction. Things were playing out exactly as he had planned them to.

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_One tanned finger lightly traced her frown, "Samara, I can't let you stay here, live a stilted life…"_

_Samara looked to the breeze, letting it brush the hairs away from her face. "But what can we do Kershean? You know how important both of us are to them. They will never let us go. Separate, or together."_

_It was quiet, as Samara, watched the trees, and Kershean watched her. Watching the skin between her eyes crinkle and her lips pout. "I have a plan," he finally spoke, "If there ever is to be a change, it must look like it was their idea…"_

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"Samara has told me of schools-universities among the humans. Places where you can gain intelligence about anything. Symbolic it would be if we were to attend and learn how to defeat the humans using their own knowledge against them."

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"_We have to stop the planned destruction." She looked at him, her eyes tracing his features for any sign of treachery. He was serious and his next statement confirmed that, "The humans deserve this world. We are merely shadows of the past."_

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"Together my mate Samara and I would like to attend these universities, learn what we can, and then return with a solution. The Exium Solus need not wait any longer!"

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"_We have to stay away from each other?" Her incredulousness warmed his heart._

"_Just when we are with the group," he gripped her hand, "We could sneak away…"_

"_I would like that," she smiled softly." But are you sure this whole thing will work?" She waved her hand grandiosely._

"_Samara, if we are to convince them, we must worry them. We cannot act like we are happy together, or even that we have an understanding between us. When we finally reveal the truth, they will be so happy to hear that you are to be my mate that they won't know what they agree too."_

"_And then we can leave?" There was something that bothered him about how she said it._

"_I promise. You know me. I have never broken a promise."_

"_I believe you." _

"_So you will do it?" He pulled her close, knowing that after this moment, their time together would be severely limited. Unexpectedly he realized that this would be harder than he had thought. His nose gravitated to her neck, reveling in the scent of her soap, and the softness of her skin. _

"_Whatever it takes," she nodded, even as his lips reached out for a taste._

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**Please keep reviewing you guys! I've discovered that when it comes to story writing I apparently have a very unhealthy case of low self-esteem! **


	6. Chapter 5

**So I got such a quick response: Holy Guacamole Batman! 12 pages!**

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**-Samara would like a word-**

Living with boys stinks. Especially when you really like said boy. Because you wouldn't want to hurt his feelings by reminding him again to put the toilet seat down in the bathroom, but you know you _have_ to tell him eventually since you keep falling in during your midnight bathroom run. Toilet water, in October, at 3 o'clock in the morning, is cold!

But I digress. Well not really, because lots of things stink about living with boys.

Kershean, for not being human, sure acts like one. He's taken to drinking directly out of the milk carton. It's atrocious to watch him guzzle it, a small trail leaking out of the side of his mouth; and I swear I've seen floaties when I've poured some in my morning cup of coffee. Backwash yuck! And did I mention he loves to leave his dirty laundry lying around the house? Oh and let's not forget the creative places he finds to hang his wet socks. Like the lamp that one is hanging on now. Does he really think that the 60 watt bulb is going to dry it better than the coin op dryer in the basement, or did he forget that was where he'd left it?

Can you tell this irritates me?

Sometimes it makes me want to scream! But I couldn't do that. I knew he was home, because unlike me, he only attended a few classes as he couldn't be enrolled. I was taking a full complement, plus some, hoping that I would be able to earn a degree before we had to head back and face the music. Kershean said it would all work out, and I believed him, but as I looked at that white sock, slightly brown with sweat, I wasn't so sure anymore. Because he had things to say about those socks, and the laundry, and the muddy gym shoes; "I'll take care of my stuff…" those were his exact words.

He didn't know I was home yet, which might explain why he wasn't in the living room. Or, perhaps he was taking the coward's way out. How could anyone miss something so obvious as a brown sock on a tacky orange table lamp? That's why I assumed it had been planned for some nefarious purpose of his own.

I took several cleansing breaths. It would do no good to antagonize him. There were other things worth fighting about; I just couldn't do it over Hanes' Grey Toes. I took another breath, because right now, battling over a sock didn't seem like such a bad idea.

I counted the moldy ceiling tiles in the salon of our dingy off-campus apartment. Two more than the last time I had indulged. And one looked like it would be falling at any moment. "Kershean?" I was feeling calm now a least.

My voice hadn't been loud; with his exceptional hearing I would never need to raise my voice much over a whisper. Sometimes that knowledge only served to tempt me to shout, just to see how sensitive his ears really were. He would never forget to put the toilet seat down again if my complaint was constantly ringing in his ears.

I heard his bedroom door open. He knew I was here. I watched as he emerged and walked down the hallway, carefully eyeing me. My time spent among my people had taught me a few things. Neanderthal's are more animalistic than human. They are phenomenal hunters, and the best weather predictors. With a little training they can track nearly anything. Oh, and all of them can smell aggression, practically from birth just like every other mammal, except man. Kershean had already sensed my mood. Cheater.

"Samara, has something upset you?"

I felt like he was being patronizing; my nose scrunched up, and my eyes narrowed, all my thoughts about not antagonizing him? Yeah, they were all gone, "Look!" And I stabbed one finger towards the offender.

His eyes followed that finger, "Oh. Must have slipped my mind." He pulled the sock down, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it in his pocket. He walked past me, gave me an absent kiss on the forehead, "Sorry about that. Won't happen again," I heard his door close softly a moment later.

By this point I was breathing heavy, his kiss like a boiling brand on my forehead. I found a pair of shoes, shoved my feet in them none too softly, and stormed out. He could make his own danged Instant Noodles tonight!

**Chapter 5**

Alright, so he felt bad about the sock.

Not bad enough to not do it again though. Samara was working herself ragged. Studying at all hours, attending more classes than he could count, hardly eating. Perhaps antagonizing her was a bad idea, but it guaranteed that they at least spent some time together. And that she took a break from her work. Of course, he didn't think that she would get mad enough to walk out. Especially not over a sock. He wondered when or if she would be back.

She hadn't taken her handbag or coin purse with her, so she didn't have any money. And she had taken an odd pair of shoes for running away. Her tennis shoes were sitting innocently at her bedside, her faux leather heels by the door were missing. She probably couldn't get far in those. But depending on how angry she was, she might do anything just to spite him. Things had been much simpler before Odessa.

_-flashback—_

_Travel to the small université in the mountains of Bourdeaux had passed quickly, once they'd caught a train in Southern Ukraine. Their hands had gravitated to each other's, their fingers interlacing as they had walked leisurely out of the Altai Mountains. It had been wonderful to escape the subdued atmosphere of the Exium Solus Camp. _

_They'd hardly rested, so excited they had been to gain distance. The spice of the pine trees had urged them onward, and the call of the meadow bathed in sunshine had been like medicine to their stifled souls. Kershean had picked a handful of yellow daisies and passed them to Samara with a kiss. Samara braided them carefully into a flower crown and wore them proudly amidst her curls. Occasionally she tried to coax Kershean to put a flower behind his ear, "Come on Kershean we could match." Kershean had patiently explained again and again, that he didn't think a flower was good for his masculine image. _

_Once they had reached Odessa, they were informed by the only French speaking conductor that the next train out of the Ukraine wasn't due to even arrive for at least a day. Samara had claimed she was alright with staying at the station sitting in one of the abandoned wicker chairs outside of a __pec__TO__pa__H__. __She seemed ill at ease though, shifting in her chair._

_Kershean was anxious for her comfort. Finally he pulled her up from the seat without a comment, and dragged her across the boulevard to a respectible looking hotel. It wasn't anything to the ritzy hotels of America, or the Penziones in Italy but it was the first hotel Kershean had ever opted to rest at. He especially liked the name, Hotel Continental Odessa. _

_Of course, this night, anything would be better than sleeping in the dankness of the alleyway outside the train station, or under the harsh lighting of the station itself. Samara was looking particulalry beautiful under the soft lamps in the hotel lobby, her cheeks still red from the wind, her lips puckered. He gruffly snatched their room key from the desk clerk, suddenly more anxious than ever for a bit of time alone. _

_The last days they had spent in the camp, preparing to leave for universite, they'd had few private moments. Even though they had always __been__ together, they'd had little time to explore anything physical. And the walk to Odessa hadn't offered much opportunity either. If they ever rested, it was to sleep, and only to sleep. They had eaten while they walked. Only once, had thing been different. There had been a traffic jam on a country road involving a heard of goats, a few cows, and 2 tractor trailers. Rather than try to traverse it, Kershean and Samara had hidden themselves a distance away behind an obliging bush until it had all cleared away. Naturally, she had settled into his lap as they had sat down, and naturally when they looked at each other, their lips had seemed anxious to meet. The kiss was slow and languid at first, but it quickly gained in tempo as Kershean had pulled Samara flush against his chest. He could still remember the way his heart pounded at that kiss, and what it felt like to be completely breathless. If one kiss could do that: Well he was anxious to discover the rest. And that kiss had almost convinced him that she was ready. _

_He led Samara up the stairs, and if he didn't notice that her hand seemed to be gripping his tighter than usual, he couldn't really be blamed. He might not be a human male, but he was still a male. _

_With a click of the key, the door swung open, and Kershean led them inside. Samara gravitated to the arm chairs sitting by the window. Kershean moved to the bed. It was very comfortable. "Samara? Would you like to sit with me?" He patted the mattress._

"_No, I'm fine here. Just enjoying the view." She would not look at him. That brought him up short, and as his libido began to cool, he started to wonder what could be wrong._

_He pushed himself off of the bed and approached her, noting that her entire body from head to toe stiffened slightly just as he reached the window. She was nervous. She shot to her feet suddenly, "I wonder if they have an entertainment room," and she made to move to the door. _

_He grabbed her arm as she tried to passed him, her eyes still averted, "Samara."_

_Her stomach did somersaults as her name spoken by him, caressed her insides. "Do you want to come along? Maybe they have some books…" Her legs felt like jelly, she was sure that they would collapse under her weight if she had to stay __this__ close to him for much longer._

_He shook his head, smiling, his eyes dark coals of lust, "I'm not really interested in reading right now."_

"_Oh really? Well maybe they have a pool. Thought I saw a sign," she released a squeaky kind of a laugh, "I'll just go check!" The arm he was holding was shaking beneath his fingertips. Was she frightened of him?_

"_Will you sit with me by the window? I would like to talk."_

_Finally her eyes raised to his, he tried to keep his expression friendly and innocent, though his entire body was coiled and ready to pounce at one positive sign from her. Finally, she nodded, though a bit hesitantly, and allowed him to pull her to the chairs._

_He caressed her arm softly with the pads of his fingers, "It is nice to be alone in such a beautiful place."_

_Her back went ramrod straight, and the arm muscle under his hand tensed again. Ah, yes, she was frightened! He moved his fingertips langidly down her arm until he could interlace his fingers with her own and side by side they looked upon the famous Derybasivska Street. It was nearing twilight, and many Ukhrainian pedestrians walked hand in hand down the street enoying the breeze beneath the linden trees. _

_Kershean said nothing, as he held her hand lightly feeling her muscles gradually relax again. He heard her laugh softly at the antics of a stray dog, begging the walkers for food scraps. He looked at her from out of the corner of his eye and was gratified by the soft smile that had settled on her lips. _

_The sun progress across the sky, and the street lamps sparked as the black of night overcame the boulevard. Samara was slouched in her chair, the picture of ease, "Are you uncomfortable with me Samara?"She hadn't expected him to speak, he had been quiet for so long. Her eyes flew to his face. "If something is bothering you, I want you to tell me. I don't want you to be thinking me a brute and not telling me." _

"_I…" but that was all she said as she removed her hand from his grasp, and wrapped her arms around her middle._

_It suddenly occurred to him that they had never discussed how her relationship had played out with Daemon. Especially, not those dark days when Kershean had been away. He knew how his brother could be. And he knew that Daemon had enjoyed over-endulging in the camps ale supply. Had his idiot brother forced her whn his thinking was impaired? Had he damaged her?Or worse, had he emotionally cripled her, leaving her persona an impossible mess, never to be retrieved. His questioning would require finesse. Something he was not particularly good at when it came to Samara. "Was Daemon…unkind to you?"_

"_Yes," like a sigh, the answer came, almost as if she didn't know she had said anything._

"_He forced you?" His voice was low and rough. If his brother wasn't a defenseless baby… _

_Samara was cowing before him and he suddenly realized that he was breathing heavy and his lips were pulled back ferally from his teeth. He must be a sight. He tried to calm himself, "I would gratefully strangle him." At the very least!, "He did not harm your womanhood?" It was the only way he could think to ask. Please let it the answer be no!_

_Samara still blushing, looked down at her lap, "He…tried a few times. But he did not injure me." She had been spared! He wanted to gather her into his arms and hug her tightly. He wanted to yell. He wanted to kiss her until she couldn't breathe. _

_But now was not the moment. Insteasd he grabbed one of her hands again, "We will wait until __you__ are ready."_

And when they found the university in Bordeaux, and went looking for places to stay, he knew they would need an apartment with 2 bedrooms. Sometimes, Kershean found it necessary to go for a long run, or take a fridgedly cold shower. He wondered if he was the first to think of using the cold water tap in such a way.

They weren't growing apart exactly, but it seemed like Samara was still nervous around him after the hotel room in Odessa. And so, when he rarely saw her, and she hardly spoke to him when he did- unless she was irritated about something-he chose the desperate solution. He irritated her.

It wasn't the best of plans, and he hadn't ever expected her to walk out. His stomach gurgled.

There were few things to eat in the apartment, mostly easy-to-prepare packaged foods. He had seen Samara fix them before. It hadn't looked too difficult. The noodles he especially liked had seemed the easiest, so he decided to start with those. The pot Samara frequently used was dirty with something black and unmentionable, coated on the inside. There was a white porcelain bowl in one of the cupboards. It said that it worked in the oven on the underside. Stove tops were the same things as ovens, right?

The instructions on the noodles said to boil 2 cups of water on high, then add the noodles. What did a cup mean? He found the glass that he had drunken from earlier filled it up twice, and poured it in. This wasn't so hard. Lighting the stove was nerve wracking as he listened to the spark of the match and sniffed the gas. Now how did water boil? He had seen water bubbling in a series of hot springs in Spain. Was that boiling? He would assume it was.

He was just working out how to open the package of noodles when he heard bubbles popping from his bowl, and an odd kind of a smell that he couldn't quite work out…No matter. He knew that occasionally Samara complained about the kitchen appliances, perhaps the smell was normal. He dumped his noodles in, then read that they would take 5 minutes until they were ready. The kitchen timer was beyond him, so carefully he began counting, each second, of every minute. It was tedious, and rather boring as he watched the noodles slowly break apart, but he didn't want to break his rhythm. 300 seconds later, he was salivating.

Perhaps they should bring back these noodles to the camp. They were delicious, almost nutritious and very filling. And with light, efficient packaging, he could carry dozens in his pockets quite easily. He was congratulating himself thusly as he reached for the bowl on the stove. The nerve receptors on his hand registered the problem first as they were literally singed by the hot porcelain. The bowl flew out of his hand and onto the floor, spilling his Instant Noodles across the kitchen tile. And he could do naught but look on in horror.

It was hours before Samara had calmed herself enough to return. She was not surprised that the lights were off. Kershean usually turned in early, wanting to be asleep before the moon rose. She was surprised to find the kitchen cleaner than she had ever seen it, and the living area spotless. But neither of these things were as surprising to her as the sight that greeted her on entering her bedroom. A very penitant Neanderthal sitting on the center of her comforter.

"Hey, Kershean."

"Samara!," His concerned eyes looked her over from head to toe, and she tried to hide her blistered feet, "I know I've been apologizing a lot lately for upsetting you. I wanted you to know how truly sorry I am." He paused for a long moment, pursing his lips, "I understand if you need some space. I'll try to stay out of your way." The last words were spoken so sadly as he looked away from her.

"Kershean, you're not in my way. I think we're still just getting used to each other."

"But I never see you! How are we supposed to get 'used to each other' if you are never around!," he blurted out.

Her retort froze on her tongue as she considered his words, thinking over the past few weeks. It _was_ true. They hardly shared meals, and the only times they seemed to talk was when she was upset with his housekeeping abilities. "I'm taking a lot of classes."

"You don't have to."

She shook her head sadly, "Yes I do. When I started, it was on probabtion as I hadn't finished all of my lycée courses before enrolling. I am doing those and a few university courses. If I'm going to finish quickly, I'm going to need to double up on classes."

"But you have plenty of time! Don't you think it would be wise to work slower? I worry about you," and here he pointed to her eyes, or more particularly, the dark circles that seemed ever- present under them.

She realized that she had never shared her fears with him, the ones that taunted her as she tried to sleep, the ones about being dragged back to camp by her hair before she earned a degree, "I have to finish."

"And you will. You can have all the time you need. But you don't have to finish now." The pure vehemence of his voice, the way he was looking at her, put a rest to those worries.

At least for now, "Oh."

He unfolded himself from the bed and gingerly approached, "I miss you, so very much. " One finger traced his favorite line down the side of her face. He cupped her chin between his palms and searched her gaze. She found herself leaning into his hands, and sighing. She'd hardly had time for him. When was the last time he had touched her like this? She could not remember.

"Have you eaten?" The look on his face was equal parts chagrin and embarrassment. "It's late," she continued ignoring that look, for now, "But maybe we could eat together?"

His answering smile was beautiful.

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**Since I don't have any other way to thank my anonymous reviewers, THANK YOU! ****Keep 'em coming!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Hey! Where are my smiles guys? - ****smiles if you like****, or ****frowns if you don't****, ;) :) ****(;0) :( ****etc…Come on, I wrote 12 pages last time! Give me something! Please?**

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**Chapter 6**

Kershean came home later that week, a weird kind of a smile on his face. "I heard the oddest thing today." Samara greeted him in the doorway and he gave her a warm but brief kiss directly on the lips. "These two professors were talking outside of one of my lectures, Something about an insect being on the top of his hat?" His brow furrowed, "That's what she said anyway. She kept repeating it too, like it was particularly important."

Samara looked at him, her head cocked to the side as she contemplated his confusion, "You mean a bee in his bonnet." She finally corrected him.

He dropped his bag, and sat down on the sofa, settling her into his side, "I wasn't aware that men wore bonnets, especially not those with bees in them." She couldn't help but laugh. "Well they don't, do they?" He suddenly frowned as he wondered if he'd gotten that wrong too.

"It's an expression!" She stumbled out with between giggle, "It means that he was upset about something."

"Oh. Well why she didn't just say _that_. Instead it was, 'l'abeille dans son capot,' over and over. It's still playing in my head repetitiously. " He tapped his head with one finger as if to jar loose the phrase.

She laughed at his antics. "I don't know, sometimes people are comfortable with their expressions."

He turned his frown on her, hardly noticing what she had said, "Are you laughing at me?"

She looked at him hard for a moment, "Maybe just a little. Does that hurt you?" Her voice was soft, cautious but curious.

He tried to smile as he spoke, "Perhaps a bit. I guess I'm not ready to be laughed at yet."

"I'm not doing it to be cruel."

His grip tightened on her shoulder, "No, I know. It's just hard to realize how much more humans laugh than our people."

"Why is that?" she asked as she pushed herself up from his chest to face him.

He scrunched up his nose, "I don't know. Occasionally when the elders have a bit of ale in them, they will laugh about something, and occasionally when a good story is told you will hear the odd chuckle. I think they prefer to be as unlike the humans as possible. Maybe they think lightheartedness is some type of weakness?"

"As in, 'the humans are not focusing on what's important?'"

He nodded, "Something like that I guess."

"Perhaps it would help if _you_ learned to laugh at yourself occasionally."

He nodded, though she wasn't certain if he agreed with her.

"I wondered what you wanted for dinner?" She felt the need to change the subject. He would think about laughing at himself when he was ready.

"Did you have something in mind?" Usually she was pickier about her food choices than he was. He often let her choose. And also he thought it only fair since she would probably be the one cooking it.

"One of my American classmates was mentioning something she missed having here. She called it 'fried chicken.' I looked it up on the internet in the library. It didn't look too tough. I thought we could try it." She tugged him off the sofa, and into the kitchen.

While she gathered the ingredients, he searched the cupboard for a suitably large frying pan. "Alright, so in America I guess they sell chickens all cut up, but I didn't have time to go to the supermarche, so I had to buy a whole chicken from the boucherie. I think…" she had placed the raw chicken on the counter and was eying it from all angles, "I think I can figure out how to cut it up."

He looked up from where he was washing his hands, "I can do that."

"Really?"

"I've dismembered animals before. At least _this_ chicken doesn't still have its feathers."

Samara couldn't contain the shudder. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

He looked bemused, "But you eat chicken all the time."

"I guess I don't like to think about it. Can't take the city out of the girl and all that."

He rolled his eyes, "Another one of those trite phrases?"

Her answering smile was smug, "See, now you're learning!"

Samara mixed the flour with a bit of salt and pepper and then showed Kershean how to coat the chicken. "How did you learn to do this again?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I watched a video on Youtube."

"They have videos about how to make fried chicken?"

"They have videos about everything," she answered evenly. For some reason it made her frown slightly. He couldn't know that she was thinking about Daemon, and the time he had taught her to walk on the ice. Youtube had videos about that too.

Instead he was focusing on her practiced hand, trying to concentrate and learn before he was forced to try to bread some chicken himself. His experience with cooking instant noodles had taught him something. Not every skill is ingrained. Many must be learned. It was a blow to his pride but he believed that he would still emerge the victor if he tried hard enough.

The chicken coating for him didn't work as smoothly as it did for Samara, and the flour seemed to prefer his shirt and face to the chicken. She laughed heartily, until he dabbed his wet finger in a bit of flour then shook it onto her nose, "Hey!" She had been pouring out oil into the frying pan, and suddenly it slipped from her fingers and hit the flour with a sickly splat. "Oh no!"

Kershean swooped down with animal quickness and grabbed the oil carton, but the damage had already been done.

Samara went to find some paper towels, but she misjudged the distance the oil had run, and stepped right into it. The last thing Kershean remembered of the slick kitchen floor was sliding out of it, on his back, Samara gurgling in terror on top of him.

His back hit the sofa with a resounding thwack, "This is as far as I go, I think."

Samara burst into giggles on top of him, before awkwardly climbing off of him.

"I didn't say you had to leave," his voice was impossibly low and velvety.

She froze. Then trying to lighten her reaction, "I guess I could be comfortable right here," and she snuggled her head into his shoulder.

"That's not quite what I meant," he said as he turned her head to give her a slow kiss. His lips were soft yet insistent.

There was a flippant reply just on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't seem to remember it, especially when his own tongue began lightly traced her mouth.

A timer sounded, "The food!" she screeched, jumping up from him and diving for the kitchen.

The rest of the cooking passed with no mishaps, and two satisfied Neanderthals sat down to dinner not long after. Kershean was barely aware of the chicken, but he was sure it was the best he had ever tasted. His senses were filled with Samara, a taste that rivaled all others.

The next morning was a cheerful one, as Samara and Kershean discovered they each had a lecture to attend on the south end of campus. At about the same time too. For the first time since enrollment, they would be able to walk to campus together. Each made sure to carry a foil pack full of the leftover chicken.

They started for campus, holding hands, but Kershean decided that didn't allow Samara to be close enough. He gently disentangled their fingers, and wound his arm around her shoulder, tucking her against his side. Completely oblivious to their surroundings, they continued their walk. Until from across the quad, Kershean suddenly heard, "Je dois pisser!"

He froze midstep, his hand tightening on Samara's shoulder, "What did that girl just say?"

"She said 'she needs to go to the bathroom.'"

He shook his head violently, "No I know how to say that. _That_ wasn't what she said."

"Well if you want to get technical she said 'she needed to pee.'"

"But that is so…so coarse. Why would a delicate female," He motioned to the girl's thin legs and emancipated arms, "say such a thing?"

Samara snorted, "Believe me, there are worse things she could have said."

"Would you have said that?"

She hesitated, "Well…no, but then I've always thought differently I suppose."

"One of the things I love about you," slipped out before he was even aware of it.

She didn't say anything and he could feel her tense under his fingertips. _Wrong thing to say_. But he would not take it back. Instead he walked her to her bâtiment, and attempted to kiss her goodbye. He was slightly disheartened when she only offered him her cheek.

Things were cool between them that evening, Samara's mind still full of his declaration, and Kershean was warring a battle with his ego. _No, he would not take it back!_ They tiptoed around each other, Kershean did not help her in the kitchen, allowing her to putter through a dinner of fried eggs alone. He would have grabbed his eggs and headed to his room, and it seemed that Samara was of the same mindset, but he didn't want her to think that the reason for his aloofness was because he had expected a declaration of her own. So instead he picked up both of their plates as soon as she had filled them and carried them to the table. He sat down in his own rickety chair, and eyed her as she hesitantly followed him. _The predator must always keep his eye on the prey!_

He was unsure as to what to say, but Samara solved that problem, with her tendency to babble when she was nervous, "I hope the eggs are okay. I got a little side tracked trying to find the salt. I put it away in what I thought at the time was an absolutely brilliant place, only to forget _why_ it was so brilliant later on. Silly how I do that sometimes." Her face suddenly scrunched together as she realized what she was doing, and she shoved a forkful of egg into her mouth. "They taste okay. Thought they might be a little overdone," she began again after she had chewed for a long moment. "The eggs at lycée were always a little overdone." Another forkful went into the mouth.

Kershean didn't care, he was reveling in the feelings that wafted over him at her sweet voice. But her own eggs were diminishing, and he had barely touched his. He took a bite. To his undiscerning palate, they tasted fine.

"They taste excellent."

She jerked at his voice, he hadn't spoken once that evening. She tried out a nervous laugh to counteract her body's overreaction.

He felt like dying inside. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything at all. He could see her eyes shuttering, her fingers idly tapping on the counter, she was closing up. "Samara?"

"My lecture was great today, le prof was a bit eccentric, but lots of them are," cue nervous laugh.

"Samara, you don't have to say it."

"Say what?" Though she knew perfectly well what he was talking about. Her stomach was already shivering.

"It's painfully obvious," and here he cringed, "That you don't have the same feelings for me that I have for you."

She couldn't stand the pain in his eyes, "No! I…"

"Don't say it to make me feel better. I don't want you to be motivated by pity! Just like the rest, I can wait," his voice was soft and tender, "It will be worth it when you come to me willingly in all things." She still looked nervous,

"I learned one of my own 'trite phrases' today, something about 'love is not bending, but being an ever-fixed mark?' I will love you always Samara, and I _will_ wait. So long as there is hope?"

She nodded eagerly, still whirling from the sound of his expressive voice quoting Shakespeare to her, "There is definitely hope."

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**More of Kershean learning what it means to be human…What do you think?**


	8. Chapter 7

**Not much Kershean/Samara, but this is necessary to the plot so bear with me.**

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**Chapter 7**

Kershean had only recently discovered the library, and he had yet to fully comprehend the Dewey decimal system. A series of numbers within numbers was too confusing for someone who had only ever studied rudimentary mathematics. He had found the section on human warfare after much wandering, and he had stayed there, returning books to the section and reading through others.

I still held that it was wrong to research and discover a method for extermination, but Kershean was adamant. Something so unlikely that the elders would understand finally, the futility of their quest was critical he argued. Though immortal, we were so few. Man was powerful and plentiful. It would be just as impossible to eliminate the ants, I mentioned to him. He said while it was sound reasoning, it wasn't enough. Concrete proof of what the humans were capable of, and what we were not, was essential.

So to the library he went.

It was hard for him to maintain objectiveness through such atrocities: The massacres that humans had subjected each other to. The African slave transports, Manifest Destiny of the American Prairie, Anti-Semitism during the early 20th century, Ghengis Khan, Dr. Mengele, Countess Bathory, Stalin, the list continued as far into the past as written record, and well into the modern age.

The Neanderthal hadn't been the only victim of human fanaticism, and relatively, they had little to gripe about. Still, it wouldn't do to add more fuel to the council's fodder by comparison. If they knew, or took the time to make themselves aware of what depravities humans were willing to commit against each other there would be no stopping them from destroying the human 'parasites' once and for all.

Kershean always came home from his library visits depressed and a temperamental. He refused to talk about it, not because he didn't want to share, but I believed because there were no words to express his gloom. I could sympathize. My entire school career had spent all its years acclimating us to the world's history in stages. Kershean was getting a severely condensed version. And not being human; I think he was fighting hard against his inherent hatred. The little good he knew of humanity was warring inside of him with this new information.

I was fighting my own battle. _"One of the things I love about you."_ one of those trite phrases that Kershean abhorred so much, but then again, he didn't know it was a trite phrase. He had spoken it from his heart, with feeling. With feeling. Feelings that I wasn't sure I shared yet. It frustrated me a little bit. I wasn't ignorant enough to think that I could force feeling something that wasn't there, but I was still trying! How could he be so sure? It was so simple for him, suddenly, he knew. I did not know. Would that ever change?

Surely I felt something for him, more than just an attraction. Anticipation; at seeing him my heart would palpitate, my palms would begin sweating. But once he was with me, like the sky after a storm, everything would cease and peace would settle, warmth lit my insides, not as a volcano, or an inferno, more like a warm blanket, or a hot summer day. It would never harm me or burn me I knew. Was that love? I had felt something similar with…Daemon… though never as intensely calm. Being around Daemon had always been like riding on the back of that Vespa. Fast and dangerous.

Kershean loved me. _"One of the things I love about you,"_ kept returning to me. I could almost believe there were no strings attached. Daemon had said the words, and once they were spoken, suddenly things were expected of me. Things I hadn't bargained for. And because he had said he loved me, he automatically expected that I felt the same way. And that I would be willing to allow him to dominate me not only my physical form, but my very personality. Wasn't it amazing that one brother appeared to be good, while the other was actually good? And I had gotten it all wrong. I had misjudged Kershean horribly.

But offering love was an experiment in trust. Initially I had only felt a calmness, a gratitude towards my savior. The type that comes from being rescued from a tyrant. But deep down, something was festering, and the more time I spent with Kershean, the more charismatic he appeared, the more it bothered me: The similarities between his brother and himself.

It had been so long since he had declared his love for me that somehow I had hoped that it wasn't an issue anymore. I had deserted him, time and time again! Who would love someone through all of that? Kershean was tenaciously sticking around though, waiting for my declaration. Why did I feel like there was a giant clock hanging over my head, counting down to my doom.

Thoughts like these were dangerous; I escaped to the library on a Friday evening, no longer able to bear the stifling atmosphere of the apartment. In other words, I was hiding. I have no compunctions about admitting such a thing; at least to myself. Telling Kershean was another matter. There was a small bit that was too cowardly to admit such a weakness, and a much larger bit that couldn't bear to see him hurt by such a confession. Because it _would_ hurt him.

So I braved the Dewey decimal system myself, looking again in the sections Kershean had begun searching. I could understand his frustration as I gleamed through books only to be bombarded with images from the holocaust of the 1930's and 40's-Emancipated children, the diaphanous gas chambers, the crowded trains, the experiments. That particular catastrophe was the one I avoided as much as possible through school. There was something so baseless, so evil about it; I had never been able to keep my objectivity during my study. I cried, I got angry, I could not forgive.

I skimmed those books quickly, trying not to think about what was between those pages. So many dead, and for what? That was the question wasn't it. The extermination power of one man would probably have been greeted by the Exium Solus with enthusiasm. I promised myself then and there to keep it from them. No matter what it took, I would never tell them of Hitler's 'superior race.'

The air was thick with regrets and death, I had to get away. I stumbled from between the carrels, walked for several rows, and then turned left. Freed from the oppressiveness, I leaned against the wall, deep heaving breaths, trying to cleanse my soul. I held in a scream, and instead banged the back of my head repeatedly against the thick wood of the library shelves. It could have been minutes, or hours that I stood there wallowing in the pity of others. Finally as the sun frees itself from the clouds, I was able to proceed.

I moved to another floor, far away from the vices of evil men. I wandered aimlessly, the smell of old tomes, comforting. The halls to the dormitory of the Orphanage had smelled just like this library. Moldy and dank, but it had been welcoming to walk through the hallway towards the sleeping compartments knowing that one more day was over, one more day survived.

I hadn't thought much of my childhood, DeWittier, finding my family, Daemon, and now the newest threat of human extermination had been my chief concerns. But walking through the aisle ways, consumed by olfactory memories I suddenly remembered all that I had willfully forgot. Going without meals to sneak food to the younger children. Sleeping in damp sheets because the attic ceiling above my bed leaked. Bed bugs in the summer, and frozen toes in the winter.

While my family was enjoying more comfortable amenities without me. I suddenly realized what a gift my life had been. (Now stick with me!) Who would I have been without a human experience? Like my father? Angry at man, determined for revenge? Or like Artha, stunted and flat, yielding to all others, either masking her opinions, or having none to speak of? I breathed in the air, and remember the feelings of contentment that had been mine so fleetingly in the Orphanage between the hours of 8 and 9 p.m. as I had crossed out another day from my mental calendar.

I realize that as while reminiscing, I had moved into a new section, the books weren't nearly as old here, many of their covers were brilliant red with a glossy finish. The stinging smell of printed ink was prevalent. Their titles—Aztecs…Incas…Mayans. I had heard of them all of course. I felt a sudden interest in this section that I could not shake.

On the front of one particularly modern book, was a picture of a man. His skin was tawny, dyed that way for I assumed it could not be natural. Around his face painted white, was the image of a skull, each individual tooth detailed and sharp. His eyes were black, his hair was blacker. But it was the shape of his bare chest that hypnotized me. Strong pectorals, flat stomach, thick biceps. It had been a long time since I had seen a bare-chested male. Okay, to be truthful, I had only ever seen one outside of purely instructional literary studies.

Kershean.

And this man looked just like him. I was getting excited, I'm pretty sure my heart wasn't supposed to be beating like that, and weren't hot flashes for old human females? I was glued to the image, memorizing every line, every rippling muscle. A lot of time had passed, nearly a year, since I'd been exposed to all his manly glory. Maybe, maybe he had turned to flab.

But I knew that was wrong, occasionally, when he had held me against his side, or hugged me, I had felt those muscles. They were still there. Every last one. This clearly was going to be a problem.

I opened the book, hoping to distract myself. Sections were dedicated to the genius of the ancient Mayan, architecture (which to me didn't seem _that_ great, who'd want to live in a house that was 5 feet wide and 10 feet high?), and astrology. I skimmed through them, and avoided the pictures of any more half naked men.

Predictions caught my eye. The Mayan had determined the end of the world to be December 21 2012. That didn't seem right. How could an ancient astrologer, long dead have known such a specific thing? The author of this particular tome was clearly a believer. But it couldn't be true! Of course if it _was_ true, it would certainly make things easier for the Exium Solus. We would only have to wait a few years. I put the book back on the shelf.

My hand brushed a small flexible book sitting further back on the shelf, neglected. A sharp corner of one page nipped at my finger. "Ieeahh!" I pulled out the offender. It looked like a scholarly journal quite out of place between its two larger neighbors with more pictures of naked men on their covers. It was bound with golden leather, and the ununiformed type set inside confirmed my suspicions as to its age. It had been printed long before modern printing presses were wide spread. It was also miss-shelved. Essays belonged in a different section.

But it was here!, and interestingly enough the topic was the Mayan Calendar. I glazed over the first pages of text that announced the writer's claims to expert knowhow. Eventually the meat of his arguments began, justifying his beliefs in the futility of the world ending at the end of the year 2012. Mayan calendars like our own in the modern culture, have cycles-we call them years. December 31st of every year ends one cycle, and the next day a new cycle begins. The Mayan Calendar is measured using a much wider span. Centuries even. The end of the current Mayan Calendar was December 21, 2012. And on December 22, a new calendar 'year' would begin. Well that made more sense. Of course, it was a bit disappointing since it put me back at square one.

I pulled a few more books from the shelf, suddenly fascinated. A few of them spoke about calendars in dry technical-speak, but many overplayed the event, predicting all manner of atrocities. Why was such a doomsday topic being lauded in library research books? Why was it of interest to humans? Like a train wreck, they couldn't look away. _If _the end of the world _did_ come on the 21st of December 2012, I felt sure that most of the earth's inhabitants would simply curl up into a ball and let it take them, without even a fight. And the Exium Solus would be in their lofty mountains watching with a sneer on their face.

I was interrupted from my black thoughts, by a throat clearing. "You are a first year. I have not seen you before," Parisian French spoke at my shoulder.

I turned, and my eyes widened at the blond boy standing behind me. He was tall with wide shoulders, and a very thin waist. I found myself observing him in a completely clinical way. His shirt revealed the body of a swimmer, lightly muscled and sinewy.

"I am a first year," I managed to choke out. Why was he here? Was I in a restricted area of the library and he was here to warn me away?

"And a very pretty one," he grinned at me. My mouth fell open, I'm sure, and I blinked rapidly before composing myself.

"My name is Raulph," he added a moment later oblivious to my confusion.

"Samara."

He grabbed my hand raised it to his lips and pressed a small peck to the back. "I have been watching you Samara," he smiled at me shyly. "You are a very beautiful girl. Not many beautiful girls would be at the library on a Friday night. You must be intelligent too, wishing to research when there is fun to be had. And you are also single."

"Oh, no…" I began to protest.

Raulph's soft fingertips pressed my lips, halting my speech, "I think it is wonderful. It makes you," he sighed, "irresistible."

"Thank you?" I mumbled against his fingers. "Um, can you remove your hand from my lips?" He wasn't freaking me out exactly, he was too charming for that, but that didn't mean I wanted him touching me. No matter how attractive he was.

To his credit as a Lothario he didn't even look abashed, "But of course. What are you researching this evening? It must be important."

"Not really, just some personal study," I showed him my book.

He took the book from me and read the title. "_The intricacies and factual meanings behind the Mayan Calendar,_ Interessant."

"It is actually."

He handed the book back to me, "You know, I have just finished a dreadful term paper, and you have freely admitted that your study is personal. Perhaps we should go out, enjoy the night. There is a small coffee carafe around the corner. I would be honored if you would accompany me."

Raulph was asking me out on a date? A cute boy was asking me out on a date! A very attractive kind, and suave boy wanted to take me out for coffee. And then there was Kershean. There was always Kershean. Attractive and kind, but with an unfortunate case of awkwardness that seemed to trickle out at the most inopportune moments, making things constantly uncomfortable between us. _"One of the things I love about you." _Ugh!

Even now it wasn't leaving me alone. Here I was being asked out by an attractive man, and I couldn't seem to put the other out of my head for even a moment. I could go out with this human, enjoy meaningless conversation and compliments.

Kershean would never have to know.

I could forget about taking over the world, my studies, and my own tumultuous feelings for the boy back at l'appartement. It was tempting. So very tempting, like saltwater to a thirsty man. But like such temptations, I could sense that in the end it would do me more harm than good.

While humans would call Kershean my boyfriend, or the guy I was dating, in Neanderthal speak, we weren't really anything. Because we had not mated, we had not pledged ourselves to each other. I, and him for that matter, could be considered 'free.' I could have gone with Raulph. And I wouldn't have been betraying anybody.

But I knew I wouldn't do that to Kershean. It wasn't a shouldn't or even a couldn't. There was something bubbling to the surface, something that made me turn down Raulph nicely but firmly, gather my things, and exit the library. Vehemently, my heart fought my brain, _Kershean! Kershean! Kershean! _it called. What did it all mean?

I walked home through the cold of December, hyperaware suddenly of all that was around me. The snow sprinkling; each flake melting into my hair. My eyelashes fluttering slightly from the wind and tickling my cheek. The crushed smell of acorns under my feet. Is this what it was like to be Neanderthal? To sense, from the smallest to the largest every movement? To be aware of the sways of every blade of grass?

Was that why I had said no to Raulph? Was it because I already knew I was different? That I didn't belong in a 'human' ritual, because I wasn't one? I pondered that for a long time, my tennis shoes crunching through the snow, my ears listening to the heaters of each of the buildings engaged for their nightly shifts.

As I passed away from the buildings of campus, I entered the gardens. It was a blissful space in the Autumn, the trees a mixture of red, yellows and golds, the Chrysanthemums fragrant and intoxicating. In the winter it was desolate so I was quite surprised to see two forms huddled together under my favorite oak tree. Its mighty branches rose to the sky, daring Mother Nature, and offering some protection to the occupants of the single bench sitting at its base. At first I thought them itinerants, probably caught out in the storm with nowhere to go and my heart went out to them. I had been _that _cold once.

I moved towards them, why I do not know; it wasn't like my apartment would be big enough to house two additional people. For some reason, their shapes drew me to them.

Consciously, I suddenly stepped back when I was close enough to see the fine cut of their clothing. The newness of their winter parkas. The youngness of their faces as they absorbed themselves in making their own heat. It seemed to be working, or at least, neither of them was complaining. I stood transfixed for an undetermined amount of time, watching them express their ardor. My face burned, not with embarrassment, but with my own memories of what Kershean's kisses felt like. Gone were all thoughts of Ralph, gone was the cold of the snowflakes melding into my hair, gone were the sounds of the heaters droning.

I heard the man groan and attack his lover's lips more passionately. Kershean groaned like that sometimes. I could already taste his kiss on my lips as if he was the boy and I was the girl, sitting on the bench, ending our date in the best way possible.

I was still transfixed by the couple, and they were still oblivious to me. Only a few moments had passed. I almost moved towards my apartment to ask Kershean to make me his. Almost. What would be the harm in that? Kershean was extremely attractive, and he said he was in love with me. As I imagined Kershean and myself before me, the seeds of doubt began growing. His kisses were addicting and I was hungry for them. What if it was only lust?

The images of Kershean and I together-going to the cinema, enjoying a meal at a restaurant, getting a cup of coffee-bombarded me. Most of our time together was spent in the apartment, far away from the prying eye. It had seemed acceptable, and I had already asked him to give up so many of his Exium Solus ways. Instead of a cave, he lived in an apartment. He slept on a soft mattress with sheets instead of under the stars or thick animal furs. These were big concessions.

But now I wanted to show him off, to be seen with him, so that people like Raulph kept their distance. And the girls. I wasn't blind; the few times we had been on campus together I had seen the looks that he had gotten from human females. They had hardly noticed me, so intent was their survey of the boy at my side. I remembered the girl back at lycée, the one determined to 'catch' him. An irrational jealousy seized me. He was mine!

And I wanted the world to know. Perhaps I should ask him. Dating Kershean. Perhaps it would help me sort out my feelings. I would have to work up the courage to bring up the idea, though. I doubted myself, and I doubted the strong feelings spreading through my torso. And Kershean could always say "no." And suddenly, that was worse than anything else.

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**As always, let me know what you think ;) OR ( **

**Often, a reviewer will help me decide what to do with things that I'm struggling with. You all are remarkably shrewd!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Taswmom—Keep sharing the love!**

**Anita-And you're back! ;0)**

**Dorothee-Since most of this part was from Kershean's POV we've been missing most of Samara's struggles. I tried to insert them subtly, her not wanting to be intimate yet, avoidance of him, etc. I don't have any experience with abuse, but from what I have observed, what she went through with Daemon would have really destroyed her confidence, so now she's trying to be normal again. Make sense? What can I change? **

**Chapter 8**

"It's a nice night," Samara began as soon as she had entered the apartment.

"I guess I haven't noticed." Kershean replied. He was looking at her blearily, dressed in a tee shirt and wrinkled pajama pants.

"Have you been inside all day reading?"

He scratched at his stinging eyes. "It seems like it will be good information for me."

Samara looked out the window at the diminishing setting sun. Today had been the first day since autumn that the sun had appeared to warm the earth. It had been so cold recently. And Kershean had missed it! "Do you really think it's necessary to find a way to exterminate the humans?"

He nodded slowly, "Yes…I want to fully research so they will believe me when I convince them of the futility of such a thing."

"But you missed the sun."

His face finally turned to the window, "The sun was out today? I've been so absorbed in this latest text. It has some interesting theories."

"Is it really the only way?"

"I believe so yes. And it will allow you more time for your studies while I research." He frowned. "But we were talking of more pleasant things, are the stars going to come out do you think?"

"I think so, the sunset was clear of clouds and it's still warm out. I saw a few couples cuddled together."

He was nonplussed, "Why would they be outside in such cold? I didn't think humans liked the cold."

"I doubt they were thinking of it, they were probably just grateful to be on a rendez-vous."

"I don't think I understand."

"What, a date?"

"Yes,"

"It's when two people who are interested in each other go somewhere together and get to know each other." Her cheeks had reddened a bit during the explanation.

He was confused again, "I have not heard of this."

"How do Neanderthal's get to know each other? Do you not spend time together, uh, eat meals together, go for walks or anything?"

He shook his head, "Not usually. We have mated so little throughout the centuries that there is hardly an established custom. It is natural to come to understand your mated pair with time."

Samara blinked owlishly at him, "Are you saying that nobody gets to know their mate's preferences or tastes before they, you know?" She waved her arms in the air.

So already, their relationship was different from the other Neanderthals! The clinch in her stomach had been acting up as she had watched all of the humans interact, was it too much to ask to feel special like all the other girls? Having him look at her, like she was the only thing that mattered. Never seeing any of the other girls. She hadn't thought so. Now she doubted.

"It is quite common for mating to precede all else." Her mouth opened and closed several times. "Is that wrong?"

He seemed truly interested in her opinion, and she suddenly found the courage she had been wishing for, We're going to date!"

He blinked at her. Rightfully so, he was a little nervous, "What exactly would it involve?" So far, all he had gathered was it was something humans enjoyed. But what was so great about sitting on benches outside in the cold, completely immobile?

"Spending time together, going out for coffee, kissing on park benches,"

It took a moment for that to sink in, spending time together-yeah he could do that, going out for coffee (it didn't taste _that_ bad), kissing on park benches...His look turned positively rakish, "Now that I think I can do." He waggled his eyebrows at her, a completely human gesture, she wondered if he had been watching American network television again.

But she was too happy to worry about that now, "Good!"

"Shall we start right now?"

Her eyes went wide, "Sure, I uh…I didn't have anything planned." She had not expected him to be so enthusiastic about this.

"'Spending time together, going out for coffee, kissing on park benches,'" he ticked each of them off on his fingers, "sounds good to me." Suddenly he was alive again, like a drowning man, granted a saving breath.

She blushed to the roots of her hair, "I guess we could gooooo." He tugged her out of the door, and her sentence ended in a squeal, "Kershean, perhaps you _should_ change out of your pajamas."

"You didn't say anything about a dress code." He whirled on her, clearly miffed.

"Well there isn't really. One for guys I mean, except no pajamas. Girls like to get dressed up, put on makeup, do their hair."

Suddenly this was more complicated than he had imagined, he was anxious to get to the 'kissing on park benches part.' He looked her over from head to toe, "But you look beautiful now."

"Can I just wash my face, maybe brush my hair back?"

"Fine!, but only if we can do the park bench first."

"Kershean!"

"What?" His tone was entirely too innocent.

She rolled her eyes, "I'll be right back. Why don't you go make yourself pretty too?"

That wiped the smirk clean off his face, "Pretty? Isn't that just for females?"

She laughed and dashed into her room shutting the door before he could retaliate. She heard him jangle the door handle a moment later, and then heard him knock politely. Good thing she had locked the door, "Be right out!" she called out merrily.

She heard him huff dramatically, then move off and she couldn't help but laugh. Every day, his severe exterior was lessening. Or perhaps, her opinion of him was changing. Perhaps he was just as he ever was.

Samara brushed through her hair with her fingers fluffing up her curls. She added a bit of body spray, the fragrance of which Kershean had said he especially liked, and then changed into a form fitting tight knit sweater. She looked at herself critically in the mirror. She looked pretty good, particularly if she sucked in her tummy just a bit. She tried it out. It wasn't too uncomfortable, and she looked great. But how long could she hold her breath. She let out her breath in a woosh. If Kershean had already noticed her extra weight (and knowing him he had), it hadn't seemed to bother him. She purposely turned away from the mirror and left her room.

She hadn't thought it had taken that long, but Kershean was still pacing in front of the apartment door, and checking the wall clock he finally had talked Samara into buying. "Are you ready now?"

"Aren't you going to say how pretty I look? _You_ look pretty."

"Samara," he griped. Then his expression softened, "I think you always look pretty, no matter what. Changing your shirt, and fixing your hair will never change how beautiful I think you are."

Tears pricked her eyelids. "I forgot one thing," she said quickly as she dashed back to her room. She didn't want him to misinterpret her tears.

She missed the look on his face, or she might have stayed. He was taking his time with her, careful of not unnerving her, but it seemed for every step forward they took, there were two very large ones backward. And it only seemed to get worse when he opened his mouth. Though only occasionally, _by the demon,_ how was he to know the difference?

She came back, her eyes dried, but Kershean hardly noticed, "Are you ready to go?" Her manner was much too cheerful. She must be hiding something.

"Of course. Where would you like to go for our coffee?" his voice was so formal, it brought her up short.

"Come on Kershean," she teased even with her stomach in her throat, "If you're good, perhaps we'll skip the spending time together and move right on to the kissing on benches."

He grinned in relief, perhaps he had read too much into her emotions.

Samara had been right, Kershean decided as they passed no less than 3 couples canoodling on park benches, as they made their way towards the coffee shop. But all of the park benches were being used! Where would they find their own? Was it perhaps alright if instead they kissed under an oak tree, or on the stairs of one of the buildings? Did it _have_ to be a park bench?

Samara was oblivious to his turmoil-or better said, annoyance-she nearly skipped beside him, gripping his hand. He didn't notice the girls that did a double take, watching the two of them obviously together. He didn't notice their eyes perceptively narrow on Samara, before collectively and individually deciding that he had the look of a love struck idiot and it wouldn't be worth the trouble to try and drag him away from such an inferior specimen of female. Of course, jealous girls are hardly objective.

He did notice the male heads that turned to observe Samara. And that bothered him too. They could have stayed in the apartment away from such prying eyes and kissed on the couch! He glared at each of them in turn, particularly those who lingered too long on her muscular legs, and wide hips.

"Kershean! They have cookies!" He tried to tear his eyes away and look at Samara since she was talking to him. That was until out of the corner of his eye he saw one particularly cheeky boy do a double take as Samara's very attractive behind turned towards him. He barely held off pummeling him. All he could do was stare him down, his nostrils flaring indignantly. "You have to try these. They have my favorite!" Sweet Samara hardly noticed his inattention. He could barely restrain himself from acting a brute, throwing her over his shoulder and marching away. Where was a park bench when an oppressed Exium Solus male needed one?

Samara had already approached the counter and pulled her coin purse from her pocket. She proceeded to order something that was 'chocolate, chewy, and delightful,' He didn't catch the entire title.

She turned to him, "Kershean? Would you like something?"

"Uh…"

She sensed his indecision, "It's alright; I'll just order two." Kershean was anxious to keep up the façade of being human, but ordering pasties and other desserts was still beyond him sometimes.

He stepped towards her as she accepted the cookies from the woman behind the counter with a smile, and wrapped one arm around her waist. She tensed and then relaxed into him. Always a good sign, "Where do you want to eat?" his deep voice rumbled in her ear.

"I have the perfect spot." She smiled at him, that particular smile that was his favorite, one side of her mouth tilted up, a few teeth exposed. And she only ever smiled that way at him. She led him out of the café, "So on a date, it's customary to talk about what we did today."

"What?"

"I'll go first." She grabbed his hand again, "One of my classes got canceled which was nice since it means an examen will be moved back. I finished my essay that was due on Monday, so I will have the entire weekend free!"

"I read all day," he was frowning.

"Yes, you mentioned that," she prodded, "What did you read? Or you can even tell me what you had for breakfast!"

The old Kershean would have scowled, this Kershean-the one that caused her heart to skip a beat-laughed, his body shaking in mirth. "I had eggs."

"And?"

"Oh, and I read a book about Nuclear War. The humans have the capabilities to destroy every living thing if they are intimidated enough."

"Yes, I knew about that. Yikes, not really light reading was it."

He looked over at her, she was worrying her lower lip, her thoughts tied up, he had to clear the cloud of despair that had settled over her brow, "I also put mayonnaise and onions in my eggs."

"What?"

"Well you did express an interest in my breakfast, I thought I should be thorough."

The thundercloud lifted, and she offered a tiny smile.

Samara led them deep into the formal gardens, brown and sleeping, until Spring: And completely disserted. "We're here!" Samara's voice was very quiet, she was suddenly shy.

Kershean looked around, and spotted under a tree, a park bench! "Is this our?" he pointed, "You were taking…that is to say…this is our destination?"

Her hand was shaking in his, sudden nerves, he pulled his hand from hers, and tucked her body into his side, turning his head towards hers and kissed her temple, "It is a nice looking bench."

She barked a sudden laugh, "Come on." It was unclear who was pulling whom, as they both moved briskly to the bench, the cookies in Samara's hand forgotten. And as he pulled her down to sit, they fell to the ground, still wrapped in their paper bag and tissue paper.

"Hello," his hot breath caressed her lips, as he perused her face with his suddenly 'hot as coal' eyes.

"Hi," she grinned back, her voice trembling with emotion.

His fingers danced up her arms, to her shoulders, her chin, and then wrapped his fingers into her hair. She alternatively had wrapped her own arms around his shoulders, "Why didn't I think of this before?" She mused.

He had no idea what she meant by that, nor did he care, as she gripped his shirt tightly in her fists and pulled his face forward that last inch.

Their lips met tentatively at first, and a rumbled groan from deep in Kershean's throat worked its way out. She tasted so good, he couldn't help it! That groan did something unexpected to Samara, suddenly, she attacked him, pulling herself into his lap, and kissing him until she was breathless, gasping, then starting again. Kershean matched her ardor, ecstatic at her passion. He could hear her heart beating as rapidly as his own and it warmed him to his very core to know that she was just as affected as he was. He nipped at her lips and tasted her with his tongue again and again, and again. Addiction never tasted so good!

He was blind to all sounds around him, to the gawking onlookers of girls who had been following his every moment surreptitiously, and finally slinking away, even to the cold of night as the sky filled with clouds. His heart was alight with hope. For once, they were joined in their affection, and nothing could possibly go wrong.

**Okay guys it might be awhile before you hear from me (a couple of weeks). I have a triathlon coming up and I really need to get my head into it. **

**Oh, and happy Birthday to me! **

**As always, reviews make me happy…so you know, do your thing!**


	10. Chapter 9

**AnitaMisra, for you!**

**Noukinav018 where are you?**

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**Chapter 9**

She should have known, the moment she came back to the apartment and the door was left unlocked. She'd had this talk with Kershean. Bordeaux might not be Paris but it was still a big city. They could not leave their doors unlocked! Even if it was only for a moment to run and put a load of laundry in the wash.

The door creaked as it opened, and she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. It took her back to almost 2 years ago. DeWittier's voice on the answering machine, the terror of being abducted. She could still remember how the black cloth had felt over her face, her breath, hot and recycled. The prick of the drug at her leg, the absolute terror of waking up in front of her nemesis. The man who had nearly ruined everything! The moment she had walked into her own blackened apartment she could feel the hairs on her arm standing up, licking and sizzling at each other. And it couldn't help but take her back.

The raw energy of the apartment-something had happened here. She opened her mouth to call out, but then shut it almost immediately. What if the intruders-because she was certain there were intruder**s**-were still inside? DeWittier was dead, by her own hand. His empire was all but demolished due to his cash siphoning. Daemon was gone as well. She had to continually remind herself of this, even as she was certain that she wasn't alone. Hopefully they would take what they were after and be on their way. She had to believe or disappear into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Not that she was anxious to face them. She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it. At least they wouldn't creep up on her from behind. But what if she found someone, and they tried…something…she would want to get out fast. She opened the door again. She was right next to the kitchen, and there were minimal hiding places there. And it was all empty when she checked.

The living room was trickier to search. The sofa was situated in such a way that anyone could be hiding behind it. Including but not limited to a very burly, very scary intruder. With a sudden spike of courage, she leapt out of the kitchen and landed right behind it. Empty. The thud from her feet landing had been louder than she had anticipated. Well if they hadn't known she was here, they knew now.

She heard a strangled kind of a moan coming from the bedrooms. Her ears prickled and something urged her down the short hallway. Her heels clicked on the hardwood and she heard the moan again. Like a hurt animal. Compassion flooded her heart. Even if it was a scary intruder, it was a hurt intruder, and needed her help. Her bedroom door was open. Kershean's was closed. She made a decision.

It had never occurred to her to question the identity of the hurt individual. She expected a stranger, beaten, bloody, what she did not expect was Kershean; his bed upended, the boy himself sitting in the corner, his arms and leg tied together and at an odd angle. His mouth was muffled by a dirty rag. His eyes regarded her pleadingly, with something in them that she couldn't quite place.

But she didn't have time for that now, "Oh gosh! Kershean!" She rushed to him, pulling the rag out of his mouth as he gagged strongly again and again, trying to regain his breath. "What happened?"

"There were two of them, they caught me off guard."

That didn't sound right, Kershean would have never let two men get into the apartment without noticing. "How is that possible?"

He looked intensely guilty, "I went out for some exercise. Just for a moment, a short walk."

"How long?"

"Five miles or thereabouts." Only Kershean would consider that short. "I…I forgot to take my key. I did not lock the door."

"Kershean," he heard her growl.

"I know!"

"What did they take?"

He shrugged awkwardly, it was then she noticed that he was still tied up. She had forgotten about that during their conversation. He appeared to be uncomfortable. The rope was thick. If it had been thinner he probably would have been able to break through it himself. "I'll be right back."

She found a knife in the kitchen, but took her time walking back to him, trying to calm down. She wasn't mad at him exactly. She had told him to lock up the door a multitude of times. Why did he forget? And not just this time, but many times previously. She put her palms down on the counters, the chill cooling her heated temper.

There was something about the situation that made her skin crawl. Knowing that someone had been standing in this very spot, had gone through her drawers. They were generally disorderly, now more so than ever, the intruders had certainly searched them. What had they touched that she was now touching? What had they wanted?

She looked out into the living room again. There was a space where the TV had been. So they had taken that? The TV didn't work half the time anyway. It hadn't even been theirs. The old tenants had left it and their landlord has said they could have it. She had never used it anyway. It was the only thing of value though.

Well except for their money, but she always carried her Euros on her person, and Kershean did the same. There wouldn't have been much money laying around the apartment. She had left her coin purse behind. The change had perhaps equaled 5 Euros at the most. They must be pretty desperate burglars. All of this she thought of as she hurried back to Kershean.

He was still looking foolish and she wasn't quite ready to forgive him yet, "How did you get to be tied up?"

He looked at her oddly for a moment. It wasn't a common French phrase. She understood his confusion and pointed the ropes cutting into the flesh of his hands and ankles.

"I came back from my run and the door was open. I surprised them. They tied me up." He said it so matter-of-factly but there was something about it that rang odd.

"Kershean, that is a little ridiculous, you're," she blushed beat red, as her eyes wandered over his form. "You are _strong_…_stronger_ than most."

He didn't miss how she emphasized those words, "I didn't want to hurt them."

"Did they take anything from you?"

"Yes."

Her eyes closed as she sucked in air through her nose, "How much?"

"All I had."

She let out an odd squeak, "Kershean that was nearly 2000 Euros! That money was for our rent for the next several months."

"I've had plenty of time to consider that, thank you," he replied tartly.

Her hands clawed at her face, "Why didn't you lock the door?" Her voice was whiny, she knew that, but she didn't care. He had forgotten something so elementary.

"I told…"

She held up a hand, "Don't bother! You could have at least stopped them from taking the money."

"Perhaps, but they were pretty adamant about it."

"What does that even mean?" she snarled at him. Kershean and his cryptic phrases were getting on her nerves.

"It means they had automatic weapons. I might be strong, but I'm not completely invincible."

"Guns?" He just glared at her. She stomped off to her own bedroom where she had dropped her purse. She just couldn't look at him anymore.

Her own purse contained significantly less than Kershean had held. Less than half even. It wouldn't last. They would need money. So they, whoever they were had come, and they had taken: But not what she had expected.

And now that she knew for certain that 'they' had been here, she couldn't stop getting angry about it. And it was all Kershean's fault! She flopped on her bed.

Kershean stalked into her room, "It isn't like I did this to make life more difficult."

"I know," she ground out, even as she thought the opposite, "But it did. We're going to need Euros."

"I can ask for some more from the council."

"No. no way." She shook her head, "I suppose I could get a job."

"You will not get a job. You don't have the time, I will talk to the council."

"You can't! As soon as you do they'll want to know why. Having to explain that we were robbed will only increase their fervor."

"What's wrong with that?"

She did a double take and her mouth dropped open, "What did you say?"

"I said…"

She held up a hand again, "Sorry poor choice of words. What I really meant was—why did you say such a thing?"

"We were robbed! I was attacked, and we were robbed! Why would I _want_ to save such debase individuals? I've tried to believe in the good." He crossed his arms across his chest, as if that was the final word.

"But I…You…" He just looked at her calmly while she sputtered and her brain spun. "Are you…?" She almost asked if he was joking. But his eyes were flat black, his mouth set in a scowl. He was not joking. "You would not let a whole people suffer for a few evil men?"

He turned to the window, his hands folded behind his back, "It's not as if they are the only ones."

"What?"

"I have decided that most humans are inherently evil."

"Not all!," Samara leapt to her feet "I have met many throughout my life who are not!"

"DeWittier?" His question was sarcastic.

She rolled her eyes at him, "Yeah right Kershean! No, Cammy, Wes…Jamie!" That one was low and she knew it as he whirled around his eyes blazing at her,

"Do not speak of him!"

"Why not? He was a good person!"

"He was…" he sputtered, "He was human. Not worth your time."

He didn't mean that, with sudden clarity she realized that there fight had shifted to something else. Something that obviously bothered him. She approached him tentatively, "Kershean, I'm here with you." She touched his arm and he heaved out a sigh. His expression lightened but he did not reach out for her. "No one else. Just you."

"There are evil men Samara. If they can be punished by my hand what is the difference?"

"There are six billion humans in this world Kershean, with more being born every day. How exactly are you planning to judge the worthiness of each one?" He started to turn away again but she held onto is arm, "A terrible thing happened to us. Our personal space was invaded, you were attacked. There is nothing we can do. We are not the judges of men. I thought you agreed to this."

He shrugged.

"Kershean, the men who took our things were bad. It's not as if you can hunt down every bad man in existence." He looked at her suddenly, a wicked glint in his eye, she did not like that and she was pretty sure she knew what it meant, "Kershean, you must promise me to not find them. You were thinking of it, weren't you? Taking your anger out on them, and then everyone else?"

He gritted his teeth and turned back to the window and away from her pointedly. "Kershean?" she tried once more, but he did not answer.

There were so many things she wanted to say, some many things he should hear, but she could not find the words. Nothing that would change his mind. She wondered when this had started, when had he made such a monumental decision. Was it because their home had been burglered, or was it something he'd found in his research. At one time he believed in the innocence of mankind. She had to help him see it again. But how?

She tried another approach, "Then at least give me time before you contact the council."

Once again, he did not answer. All she could do was hope he would listen. An hour before she had been thinking of things: Remembering every kind word he had ever offered, every moment they had spent together. She had been on the cusp of deciding something. Something that she knew was important if she could just grasp it. And then this had happened.

Why was he being so ridiculous? Suddenly turning into her father-here she shuddered-or into Daemon? She had just begun to believe he was different. What if she was wrong?

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**Hope you enjoyed! Smiles please!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Foxfire Inari…I meant chapter 11, Sorry!**

**Hey Dorothee! Glad you are back. And I'm grateful for your critique! Keep it up-if anything ever seems out of character, let me know.**

**And that also goes for the rest of you as well ;0)**

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**Chapter 10**

"_You have a girlfriend, man? Am I right? Perhaps we'll wait around for her." The man laughed lecherously and nudged his companion who grinned with his blackened teeth. Kershean could sense their excitement, he knew what they planned for Samara if she came home too soon._

_And he regretted that he had let them tie him up. But it was too late now. The rope was incredibly tight. It was almost as if they knew how strong he was. As if they had been watching him for a long time discovering his strength, maybe they even had an inkling about what he was. They had stalked him like some type of inferior animal, watching him for weaknesses; waiting for their opportunity. The evil act had been planned: Designed to subjugate, to intimidate, to destroy. Those kinds of thoughts made his blood boil._

_But what nearly shot him through the roof, tearing at his ropes like a ferocious lion, was that now they were after Samara! Was it not enough that they had stolen his valuables, that he had been humiliated by them? Who were these men? Why were they like this?_

"_You will not touch her," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. It was then that one of them pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it down Kershean's throat stopping his further threats. _

Kershean jerked out of bed, remembrances of the nightmare, clear and crisp for he had lived every minute of that terror. Samara was far too forgiving though he could never tell her what they had said. He loved her too much to destroy her faith as well. The faith that humanity was not as bad as the Exium Solus believed.

The morning was still grey outside his window, the sun just beginning to rise. He breathed heavy trying to calm the horrible tremors wracking his body. It was over, the men were gone. And Samara had gotten another lock for the door, even though that was hardly the problem last time. Kershean had repented his distractedness and now kept a door key constantly around his neck. Samara had forgotten it seemed, gone back to studying, living her life. But he could not. On instinct, he followed his feet off of his bed finding his way to her door. Just in case. Because he just had to know that she was safe.

There hadn't been much time for them to be together lately. It wasn't like she was angry at him, more like she was disappointed, and it killed him a little bit inside, every time he saw that look of silent disapproval on her face. But he could not help it! Neanderthals, Exium Solus now, were built for revenge. Perhaps he had been wrong all along to deny his internal nature. The Exium Solus were meant to rule, to be superior! But that seemed wrong somehow. Isn't that what he had accused the robbers of doing? Giving into their baser instincts? Being evil and dangerous simply because they could? It was a hard decision.

Samara's room was cold and her blankets were bundled into a pile in the middle of her bed. And she wasn't inside them. He froze immediately, his head buzzing as he tried to think past his horror. Early in the morning, Samara ever a _late_ morning riser was not in bed. Therefore, something must have happened to her. His fists clenched at his sides. He knew he should have gone after those two men.

He stormed into the kitchen, looking for his shoes, and stopped when he smelled cooked eggs. Samara had made herself breakfast, perhaps an hour or two ago. And then he remembered, Samara had a job now. He had tried not to think about it. Not to remind himself that she was not only a full time student but also an employed one. It all came rushing on him in a moment. She had far too many responsibilities, and here he sat, contemplating world domination. Not doing much else, but drowning in the possibilities for revenge.

Why had she made him promise to not contact the council for more Euros? It would be the easiest solution. It slightly irritated that she was employed. When she had walked away from him the day after the incident he had determined the subject as closed, he would contact them, and she would deal with it. But Samara had come back to him the next day, and the next, demanding his promise. And finally she had worn him down. He wasn't sure why he had agreed. He surely hadn't expected her to be so tenacious. Or perhaps it was because he wasn't quite ready for the stifling air that always surrounded the council.

So now she was working at a small café, cleaning tables and making hardly anything. She had taken the worst shifts, early mornings and late evenings, it was all that was available she had said. And still she made only enough for them to buy the simplest of meals.

He knew he could make more money, he had done it before. He swallowed his pride and went to the cafe. Alone as he walked down the sidewalk, he deftly stayed out of the way of the street sweepers. He paused outside the café looking at his beloved through the window. He could tell she was tired and so early in her shift too-her legs were swaying from side to side as she tried to eliminate the stiffness from standing for so long, and her eyes were bleary and red. She ignored the bell as he opened the café door and stepped inside. She was pulling dirty glasses from off the tables and dumping them into a large pail at her side.

He approached the bar and sat, waiting for her to come to him. And she did, though it was to the other side of the bar and she refused to look up, "Samara, you cannot do so much."

"You sound like a broken record Kershean."

"Broken record?"

Her nostrils flared and she refused to answer. Alright, so she was still mad.

"I will keep my promise and not go to the council." He offered softly, "Let me help you."

Her brow furrowed, "I don't think there are any more positions available here."

He shook his head and leaned forward. Though there were few patrons, he didn't want anyone to hear their conversation. "I have held jobs before. I don't always get my money from the council."

She was trying to seem uninterested but even a human could see how her ears perked up, "Oh?"

"It makes good money."

Her eyes narrowed a bit on him, "What did you do exactly?"

"I was trained as a scout. I am good at it." There was no ego, just basic fact. He was grateful that he had stopped at l'université before proceeding to her café. He showed her the flier he had seen, "This person for example has lost a purse. They are offering a reward. I would find it for them, collect the reward."

She blinked at him¸ "How often do you do this?"

"As often as I had to. Occasionally I would help find a missing person, or an animal. I would be paid more for those."

"And this is how you want to contribute?" She had crossed her arms across her chest, and one eyebrow rose, but he thought he could see a hint of excitement in her eyes.

He hoped he wasn't wrong about this, "I have more time than you. You have other responsibilities."

She instantly bristled, she had been doing that a lot lately, "Don't tell me what to do!"

He held his hands up pleadingly before he reached forward with one finger to trace the dark circles under her eyes, "I'm not. Please let me help." That same finger traced the apple of her cheek, "Please."

She had capitulated at the second please. He didn't find the purse. It had been gone for two weeks. Whoever had it wasn't going to bring it back now.

But he did find a missing dog not far from its home. The thing had been half alive and huddled beside the train tracks horribly turned around and lost, its skin thin, and its ribs protruding. It probably wouldn't live for long he expected, but the owner was happy to see it. Happy enough to offer him a 100 Euro bill. The owner had been a young female, Lorelei, probably the same age as him. She had thanked him very professionally for his services, and asked if she could call him again if she ever had another problem. She hadn't stared, she hadn't cooed, she'd barely noticed how attractive he was. And she hadn't called.

Someone else did. A distant friend of Lorelei's who had also lost a dog. That one was tougher. This dog was bigger, a hunting breed. They tended to follow their nose losing track of time and their distance from home. The dog was an amateur tracker, its trail had not been careful. Kershean found that one as well.

He tried not to be uncomfortable as he waited for her, sitting on her plush white sofa. It was overstuffed, and very different from his own. Her white heels had clicked on her marble floor as she returned. He had been thanked profusely but professionally, and offered a second 100 Euro bill. It was an odd sensation. Each woman had hired him for a job, he had done the job, and they had offered payment. They hadn't tried to cheat him, they hadn't treated him inferiorly. They could have. They had not.

He thought suddenly of Ricky, back in that café in Lyon. She had noticed his need, offered her advice, and moved on. It had been a _kind_ gesture. He gritted his teeth, and by the demon…he thought of Jamie! He hadn't known Cammy or Wes, but he knew who Jamie was. He had watched Samara encourage him, he had watched them walk back to Samara's dorm. He had watched Jamie walk out a moment later. Jamie had been rejected. Kershean should have felt gleeful, but something about Jamie's face stopped him. The boy was discouraged sure, but there was no anger, only acceptance. He would never bother Samara again. Jamie was a better match for Samara than _he_ was. Compassionate, mature even. Kershean was not above letting pettiness get to him, and it depressed him. He wanted to be better.

And then a man called for help, "Hello? I'm looking for Kershean."

"This is him speaking," Kershean replied a bit awkwardly. He could never get used to telephones. Wires and receivers and the like, but no face to judge emotions. It was disconcerting.

"I need help," the man's voice was a bit tinny, it sounded like he was upset. "I think I have an employee stealing from me. My wife said you found our dog. That you are some type of private investigator. Do you think you could help me?"

"Yes," and he took down the man's information. This one would be certainly more exciting, days of tracking, and a larger reward.

Samara was still working at the café, and she had a few papers due before les examens started. She probably wouldn't even notice he was missing. And she was still giving him the silent treatment. Especially when he had added his two 100 Euros to her much smaller pile of bills.

He thought of leaving her a note. She scowled at him whenever she saw him. She consistently burned eggs, and undercooked the noodles. But only his portions. She would tear up the note. Or burn it and stomp on the remains.

So he didn't leave a note.

He met Monsieur Leo at his office on the top floor of his enterprise. It was much different from DeWittier's building. Much smaller. Monsieur Leo had made it sound like his company was just starting up. And from the looks of things, he was probably right. If there was a thief, his business could be ruined.

Kershean watched Monsieur Leo's office; he even met the man who was stealing, shook his hand. And he was indeed up to something. His eyes were shifty, he smelled of dried sweat even in the cold of winter. Yes, Monsieur Rideau was doing something immoral. He might not be stealing from the company, Kershean had hastened to inform Monsieur Leo. Perhaps he was cheating on a lover or taking someone else's lunch out of the fridge consistently. His instincts said otherwise, so he took the job.

It had taken five days. Five days of constant watch, shadowing Monsieur Rideau's every step, and five nights watching the man through his window toss and turn on his grimy mattress. Kershean missed Samara desperately, especially at night. Even if she only offered blackened eggs. Even if she hadn't smiled at him in weeks.

He was ready on that fifth day to pack it up, forget about Monsieurs Leo and Rideau. Return to Samara, and beg for her mercy. Monsieur Rideau left the office around noon. He carried his briefcase, and Kershean turned left to follow him to his favorite café just as he'd done every day.

Except Rideau turned right! He walked for 3 blocks, turning occasionally to look over his shoulder. Kershean knew his job, he stayed invisible. Rideau approached a black box, with buttons and a computer screen. He looked around him again. And from his briefcase, he took out a wad of money. Kershean counted the bills, watching unobtrusively from a few feet away as Rideau folded them into a plain white envelope. Nearly 10,000 Euros. Rideau pushed a few buttons on the box, and placed the envelope inside. Kershean had his evidence.

He approached Monsieur Leo telling him what he had seen. And 10,000 Euros was mysteriously missing from the books! The very same day that Rideau had made his trip to the black box. Case solved.

"Kershean." Monsieur Leo pulled him aside, "You are a good person. Anyone can see that! Thank you for helping out other good people. It must be hard not to become jaded. Not to hate all of humanity. Just know there are good people who will always appreciate your integrity." Kershean barely noticed the 1000 Euro bill pressed into his palm.

Monsieur Leo had been wrong. Kershean did hate _all_ of mankind. Lumped them together into one big pile of garbage. It was then that he finally realized his mistake. If the humans somehow discovered the Exium Solus plan, would they simply eliminate all of them, or would they judge them all separately? Obviously he hoped for the latter. Was Samara like Artha, or Sirex? No, she was different. And he loved her for it. He would not want to be compared to his father or Pithe. Here he was doing what he would not like or appreciate!

Why had he been so determined to know better than they did? Humans seemed to resolve their own problems rather effectively. They didn't need him to play vigilante. Most tyrants were tried and punished, and few crimes went unsettled for long. He knew that! Deep down, he understood that humans could take care of themselves.

What was the real problem then?

The humiliation of being rescued by a woman, by his own mate! _That_ was why. _That_ was what caused him to cringe and snarl and his stomach to roll. He didn't care about money, about possessions! He never had. He could always get more of what he needed. It had been mortifying to be seen so low by Samara. To have her cut his bonds, to have her free his mouth. To have her blame him for it all.

She was right though, it was his fault. He had forgotten the key. She had always reminded him to take it with him. And he had forgotten. And his ego had wanted to blame someone else! He _was_ an idiot!

Samara was home, in front of the door when he arrived wringing her hands, "You're here!" she threw herself at him.

Not what he expected, though his arms gratefully came around her, "Yes, I am home. Is there something you needed?" It had been so long since she had touched him, but he didn't want to assume anything.

"Kershean! Where have you been? You've been missing for days." Suddenly a light of understanding sparked her eyes, "You went to _them_ didn't you?" There was no accusation, only acceptance. "I thought you might." She nodded, "I guess we can't get around it," her arms went a bit limp around him.

He pulled her tighter to him and shook his head strongly, "No! I promised. I would not break my word."

"But you wanted to," she prodded.

"No," he smiled at her softly. He had missed her! "You were right about many things. I did not go to the council because we can take care of ourselves. And…" He closed his eyes and gathered his strength, "I should have taken my keys. I let the blame rest elsewhere when it was clearly my mistake."

She blinked, "That's…I…I don't know what to say."

"Samara you have lived so long among the humans, it is almost as if you are one. I love you how you are. Our people love you. Because of humans you are, well…You! Why would I want them? I am indebted to them. Truly indebted." He shook his head again, "I was letting my own ego convince me of something that was wrong. There are good people out there. I have met some. They should not, nay _will_ not be punished for others iniquities."

She threw her arms around his neck again, "Oh, I forgive you. You can be so stupid! But I forgive you." She kissed his cheek loudly, and then again, tenderly. "You are wonderful."

"I was wrong. So very wrong. I was becoming what I've abhorred for so long." His father, Pithe, who would never realize, never know the goodness of forgiveness, of letting go of their revenge. He would not be them. He would remember the beauty. And oddly, he was grateful to the two burglars. Now that he had seen the blackness, he _knew_ of the light! He would not forget.

"I was worried." Her voice was soft and she was studying her shoes.

He gripped her hands forcing her to look up at him, "That makes me sadder than anything else you could have said. I should not have worried you. I was acting as those two men, grouping and judging just as they had done."

"You are nothing like them!" her voice was vehement, and then from under her eyelashes, she watched him as his heart pounded. "Kershean…I…" But then the phone rang and she went to answer it. The moment was gone, and he would never know what she had meant to say.

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**Don't forget my smiles!**


	12. Chapter 11

**Alright, chapter 11 with a little spice…**

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**Chapter 11**

_**-Kershean-**_

It had been a long day for Kershean. The council had sent word that they were growing impatient. It had already been months since they had sent him and Samara away, the Altai Mountains were _not_ accommodating the tribe well, the council wanted the plan. Hem had tried to shrug it off, but Kershean could tell that the boy had been told to threaten him. He felt pulled and stretched in two separate directions, by duty and by conscience. How was he to discover a solution mutually beneficial and non-threatening for each party?

He knew what he wanted, what he had contemplated in his darkest moments. When Pithe was living up to his name or his father was being particularly self-righteous. But then he would look at Samara, sweet and unsuspecting. He knew she would never agree to it. He knew that in her free moments she was spending time in the library researching. He didn't want her to. He didn't want her to be in any way responsible for what he might have to do. It would turn the world on its ear, but it would also save _both_ races from complete annihilation.

So it was with a heavy heart that Kershean dragged himself home through the darkened streets. Home to the one thing that was making him happy. Samara had been studying when he had left earlier. She had one final examen left. He hoped she was still awake. He needed someone to talk to. Someone to be rational. And if he was really being honest with himself; he needed the comforting.

The house was dark however, and he tried to stave off his disappointment. Samara who usually stayed up until all hours was abed. He walked past her closed door and hesitated, his fist raised to knock. But even now she slept longer than the other Exium Solus, and lately she hadn't gotten much. And he was pretty sure she had a shift at the café early the next morning.

His conscience would not allow him to wake her. Head down, feet shuffling, he passed down the thin corridor to his own room. His door was closed as well. Odd. He was pretty sure he had left it ajar.

His eyes protested against the strong light in the room coming from the moon. He looked to the window; his curtains were pulled to the side. He hadn't opened those. He would not be able to sleep with that kind of light accosting his eyelids.

As he moved to the window confused and disappointed, he pulled up short by a form curled under his covers. He could see dark curly hair poking out of the blankets. Samara? What was she doing here?

He forgot all about the blinds as he knelt beside his bed. Her face was turned to the side, her lips pursed as she breathed softly. In his bed. There was something about the whole thing that was nagging at the back of his brain, but he couldn't quite grasp what "it" was. She was in his bed, he knew he needed comforting, so he bent over her, his lips brushing her cheek softly. Her head shifted and she mumbled softly before gathering her legs up to her stomach. Her breathing returned to its slow and steady rhythm.

"Samara?" His hand went over her shoulder, still covered by blankets, he shook her slightly.

"Samara," he raised his voice just above that of a whisper. Still no answer.

He bent closer, his fingers reaching out to stroke her check, "Samara."

Her eyes fluttered open, "Kershean!" she breathed. She looked up at him, adoring, then with a sparkle of decisiveness. She lifted herself on one elbow.

As the blanket exposed her upper torso, Kershean's jaw fell open. Samara was wearing a very small top with thin feathery straps. But he didn't have time to really think more about what that could mean once Samara's soft lip met his. They moved confidently against his own, muddling his other senses. He was vaguely aware of his own hands gripping her shoulders than circling around to her back.

"Kershean," she sighed again. Just against his lips and it drove him crazy.

Her warm tongue was suddenly in his mouth stroking his own, pulling it to her. Over and over again, she suckled quenching an eternal thirst. Her fingers were everywhere on his face, running through his hair, and then at his waist as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her small hands gripped his button up shirt on each side, and then her fingers danced their way beneath his shirt to caress his skin.

His animal instincts took control, and he peppered her lips again and again, his own thirst matching hers. His lips ached bruise and swollen, but he didn't care. He gripped her face, tipping her head, tugging her mouth further open, his own tongue preparing to do battle. He nibbled and nipped, and she did the same, but still it was not enough.

And then he felt and heard the pop of the bottom button of his shirt pushed through the hole by Samara's suddenly shaking fingers. It was the unsteadiness of it all that jolted him back. He pushed himself up on his elbows, staring at her. His shirt was already half unbuttoned, and her camisole was completely gone, leaving…suddenly it was vitally important for him to look anywhere but at her. His bedside alarm clock seemed particularly interesting. H watched it in silence, the only sound their combined lungs heaving, as the clocked ticked forward one minute, then another.

"Kershean," her voice was very small, doubt creeping in.

His eyes flicked back to her and he forced himself to look away once again. Hi fingers quickly tugged a blanket up to cover her…uh…well…bosom…He was dreadfully afraid that he was turning red with embarrassment. When had _he_ removed her shirt? He didn't remember doing that!

"Samara, I'm sorry, I didn't plan…"

"I thought this was what you wanted."

_For him to maul her like some type of beast?_ "This is what _you_ wanted?" His voice was harsh with incredulity.

Samara tensed, sitting straight up, forcing him to move away to avoid getting hit. The blanket was now clenched tightly across her chest, "Maybe I was wrong," she managed to choke out before she bolted.

He heard her own door slam none too lightly a moment later. He blinked, and then blinked again. Then five more times for good measure. Samara in his bed. Wearing hardly anything. Samara kissing him. Unbuttoning his shirt. By the Demon! Something had gone wrong somewhere.

**-Samara-**

He'd always claimed he would wait until I was ready…well not really, just that once back in Odessa, I guess. But with how things were going I expected that his promise still held. Whenever things got amoureux and I felt sure that we would naturally progress further, he would pull away, panting heavily, give me one quick kiss on the forehead and then disappear. And it didn't bother me at first, because once my brain started working again, I knew I wasn't really ready for anything else. He was keeping his word.

But night after night-and it was indeed night after night that we found ourselves a tangle of limps, clothes askew, hair akimbo-I couldn't command the hormones so readily anymore. Nor did I want to. There was a fluttering in my stomach that I couldn't account for, and I didn't like it when it stuck around to torment me.

Every time though the ending was the same, panting heavily, kiss on the forehead, and a big fat disappear! And then the shower water would cut on. I wasn't so innocent that I didn't know what he was doing. The water ran long, and the bathroom felt as cold as an ice storm after. It reminded me when I was in the doldrums that he wanted it too. I was pretty sure by this point that I was ready, but still you can't blame a girl for feeling a little low when he kept pulling away. Like a mantra I would repeat, "He wants it too." I began thinking; very dangerous during examen times when I should be filling my head with facts and figures.

So I went for a walk, somehow ending up in the shopping district. I walked the aisles of the supermarche, looking at the food for sale, the things I would love to have, and the things we could actually afford. Turning a corner I passed those bubbly instructional magazines. I stopped, stared, then finally realizing where I was, I quickly hurried away, head down, eyes averted. I would never have the guts to buy or try their advice. I knew Kershean must be attracted to me somehow, but I didn't feel beautiful enough to test out the part of the seductress.

Things had been going so well, even with Kershean and I both working and attending classes, he still wanted to take me out on dates. He loved the movie theater, "Look how huge everything is!" though restaurants were still beyond him, "I like your food better," but every date would end on a park bench or our sofa…It was time for something else to happen.

As I tossed and turned, frustrated and uncomfortable on my own mattress, I finally stumbled upon a solution. I didn't wait, I didn't analyze. I simply climbed out of my bed, walked down the hall, and climbed into his.

I jumped up seconds later, ran back to my room and changed my large frumpy flannel nightshirt for a thin tank top. I snuggled under his blanket and dug my nose into his pillow. It smelled like him. Sleep came knocking, my eyes grew heavy. If Kershean came home and found me asleep in his bed…

Being who he was, he would probably assume that I had made a mistake, forgetting where my own bedroom was. He might even leave me here and go sleep in _my_ empty bed. So, I must stay awake! Opening his curtains was my next brilliant plan. The brightness of the full winter moon nearly blinded me. Good. It would keep me conscious.

Imagine my surprise when the lightest of touches stroked my cheek. I admit, perhaps I attacked him a bit; he did freeze at that first kiss. But Kershean's smart, he caught on fast. At least I thought he had until like clockwork, he pulled away.

So here I was back in my own bed, the covers over my head contemplating dying from my own embarrassment, and other maudlin thoughts too horrifying to mention. "This is _what _you wanted?" Of course he hadn't emphasized it quite that way. But I couldn't help it as I felt two large tears run down my nose. "This is what _you_ wanted!" Didn't he want it too? Back in Odessa I had been sure he'd been ready. But I couldn't seem to remember him ever actually admitting to it.

And in the darkest moment of the night, the house so quiet that I was sure I was alone now, I wondered if it was different for him. The word "duty" plunged through the film of my subconscious, and I bit back a sob as two more tears made their way down my nose.

"Samara?" The sob turned into a strangled kind of a squeak.

"Sam," it was almost a sigh.

"You've never called me that before." It pulled me from my covers to look at him.

His eyebrows were knitted together and he was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Nervous. "Do you not want me to call you that?"

I nearly reached for him then…nearly. I couldn't comfort him. What if he didn't want that? And all my chagrin was back. I pulled the covers back over my head.

"Please don't hide." My blanket softly pulled off my face slightly shaking from his hand. I remembered that he was nervous too. It was time for me to suck it up and accept the rejection. I tried to look him in the eye, but his eyes were so tortured, I couldn't do it. He was still standing; I let my eyes fall to his left kneecap, innocuous enough. "I have offended you."

"No," I croaked then cleared my throat, "It's not your fault you feel that way."

"Feel what way? That I acted the brute?"

"I didn't think you were being a brute."

"But I ripped your shirt off!"

I shut my eyes tightly, so I could pretend that I was alone when I said my next words, "I liked it when you did that."

"Oh." That was it; that was all he said.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, his mouth was set, his eyes blank. He was breathing normally. What was going on in his head? Did _he_ like that _I_ liked it? Was he trying to tell me that he didn't think it should continue? Had his ardor cooled? That was the worst thing I could have thought. My eyes began prickling again, and I bit my lip against the tears. I would not make him feel sorry for me by crying in front of him.

But Kershean noticed and he lightly tugged my lip away from my teeth as he sat gingerly on my bed. "I want to please you Samara."

Please me? Please me! What about him? Would it be such a struggle for him? Would he not enjoy it? I didn't have much longer to think of it, for Kershean suddenly leaned towards me, placing a light kiss on my lips. Then another, and another. His lips grew more insistent, his breath shallow, is this what he meant by pleasing me? Before I succumbed, I used my last bit of strength, "Kershean no."

To his credit, or perhaps his relief, he pulled away immediately, "But I thought…"

"Not like this, I want you to want it too."

"But I…"

"No don't say it," I held up a hand. "I'm tired," I lied, "I'll see you tomorrow." I pulled myself back under the covers, turned my head to the opposite wall and fell asleep. I didn't know when Kershean finally returned to his own room, but when I awoke, he was gone.

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**When I wrote this, my grammar check was on the fritz, so if there are spelling errors and I missed them, I'm so sorry, my eyes tried to catch it all!**

**Thank you, my lovely reviewers, keep up the smiles!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

One word, awkward. No, that didn't hold enough descriptive force. Awkward Idiot. The two combined together with their dual syllables and critical definitions suited things much better.

Especially when he added the part about himself being the awkward idiot. And the knowledge that he was an even bigger idiot than his brother. Daemon would not have missed the invitation. He couldn't believe that _he_ had missed it. Half naked girl in his bed, and he'd missed it! Awkward idiot. Using the two together with a harsh sigh certainly made him feel better. He deserved to feel this stupid. He paced from his bed to the window, five steps, then to his door which took ten if he kept his feet close together.

Five steps, pivot. Ten steps, sigh.

But it still wasn't enough and he wasn't getting much thinking done in such a confined space. The hallway! Out he went-bathroom door to sofa arm was at least 30 steps, much more accommodating for a perilous self-walloping.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Why hadn't he noticed? He had been waiting, told her whenever she was ready. Perhaps he had never expected her to actually do anything. Well she had, and now he was pacing. Outside her door too! That would never do. What if she discovered him? She would think him a bigger idiot. Big awkward idiot. Maybe he should just bash his head into a wall now. That would be loud. Surely she would hear _that._

On to the kitchen! But he couldn't just stand in the kitchen. It was her domain really, though occasionally he would help her prepare some meals. He could smell her shampoo here, still lingering though she had quitted the space hours ago. Or it could be infused into his own clothes, they had been so close only moments ago. His fingers drummed on the counter top, he had seen Samara do that occasionally and it seemed to calm her. It made his fingertips hurt. He opened the drawer with the silverware and began straightening the forks. He was avoiding thinking. Idiot!

She wanted him to be a brute? Okay not really, but she liked how he ripped off her shirt? Coupling between Neanderthals was fierce, much different from human relations. He had always assumed that Samara would appreciate a tamer version of intercourse. It stirred something deep inside of him to realize that perhaps she thought otherwise. Perhaps it would not have to be so strange for him to temper his passions.

And he had missed her open invitation! Now it was too late! He had to physically hold himself back from going to her once more, asking if they could start again, pleading with her to let him rip off her shirt once more. A frigid shower would not be enough this time. He shoved his shoes on his feet. Maybe he could find an arctic lake to drown himself in!

Outside, his eyes were drawn to all of the lit windows defying the cold night sky, wondering if there were successful couples behind any of them. He saw the shadow of presumably a man and a woman locked in some type of embrace and he quickly looked away, feeling the voyeur. He wished he had another job to do something that would offer a temporary buoy to his spirits, but there was nothing on his horizon. Nothing for him to do this dreary evening.

Distractedly, focusing on his black thoughts, he made his way past the campus, into the surrounding forest. Here he felt more comfortable, more at home. Maybe a tree would fall on him. He deserved that. The woods were quiet, but he hardly noticed, his inner voice still shouting at him. Awkward idiot! He thought about telling his inner voice to shove off. This was all its fault. If he'd gone with his instincts he would be back in his bed enjoying conjugal felicity right now.

Where was that arctic lake? He broke into a run, his feet flying through the snow. It had begun falling again and it felt wonderful against his heated skin. It was sticking and freezing in his hair and thicker now that he seemed to be gaining altitude. He should be looking for shelter, somewhere for protection. Maybe instead of looking for the lake he should just let the snow turn him into a popsicle.

Without warning, his body was soaring through the air, encouraged by an unknown force. He hit a snow drift with a loud thump that nearly knocked the air out of him. He looked up into the laughing eyes of his kinsman Hem.

"Was there a reason for that?" He snarled as he climbed to his feet.

Hem raised his eyebrows, "I have been calling your name. You walked right past my night camp."

"Did the counsel have something more to say, any more acerbic words that you might have forgotten to relay?" Kershean demanded sarcastically.

"I am just the messenger as you know," Hem retorted tartly, "You did not react like this earlier when I imparted their words. What has happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Kershean grumbled.

Hem frowned, his eyes narrowing in thought before snapping his fingers, "You have not been like this since Samara deserted you." Kershean scowled at the ground.

"Has she deserted you again?" Kershean's head flew up, his nostrils flaring and his eyes burning, and Hem quickly backtracked, "Sorry, wrong choice of words."

"Do not speak of her like that!"

"Have you argued?" Hem ignored his bravado.

"I don't want to talk about it." Kershean said again.

"Well you obviously _need_ to talk about it," Hem said sagely. Kershean glowered at him, but Hem only settled himself against a tree and folded his arms. "So, you probably haven't argued. I don't think you would be so temperamental with _me_ if that was the problem."

"Can't you just crawl back to your snow cave and leave me alone?" Kershean pleaded.

"Obviously, you are avoiding her," Hem ignored him again, "Or you wouldn't be out here. So that probably means you've been your usual awkward self. Was it something you said?"

Kershean just sighed, not saying anything. "Well," Hem projected," since you haven't threatened me with bodily harm, probably not. So that means you _did_ something awkward."

Kershean eyes shifted away, staring intently at the white snow-covered landscape, "I don't really want your help solving this you know."

Hem smirked, "So what did you do?"

"Nothing alright?" Kershean finally exploded, "I did nothing. That's the problem. She wanted it and I did nothing!"

"What is it exactly?" Hem looked confused. 'It' could be any number of things-Removing refuse, cooking some type of sustenance, putting his soiled clothes away...the list was endless.

"You know, a man and a woman…and…"

Hem balked at him, "You mean, you haven't before this? Surely not!"

"Samara was not ready. I didn't want to push myself on her."

"That's impressive, my friend. Not many of our men have that kind of fortitude. Myself of course," Hem grinned, "Franken…"

"Franken? I would have thought…?"

"Yes, well, him and Artha seem to be a love match. Not like many of the others. He singled her out long ago, waiting for her to return his affections."

"How do you know all this? I've never noticed."

"You never have sentinel duties. Their cave is near my post. I hear things."

"They love each other. Very much?"

"Yes, theirs is unlike any other. Tender, affectionate. They hide it well from the rest of us."

"I had hoped it was possible, Samara cares for those things."

"And you do too?" Kershean nodded. Hem looked at him shrewdly, "You really did nothing?"

"I ripped her clothes off!" Kershean had turned red and was once again looking anywhere but at Hem, "She said she liked it. And I was the idiot who pushed her away."

Hem's breath came out of him in a woosh, "You're definitely right about the idiot part."

"Thanks for those wise words," Kershean growled.

"Oh, so you do want my advice?" Hem held up a hand as Kershean tried to interject, "Artha and Franken have their awkward moments too you know. But because of their affection, they are able to fix things quite effectively. This too, for you I believe, shall pass. Franken grovels, woos, and Artha forgives him. Put coupling out of your mind for now, and focus on restoring her trust."

"When did you get so wise, little cousin?"

Hem puffed out his chest, "I have always been wiser than you."

Kershean compacted a quick snowball and threw it into Hem's chortling face. Hem retaliated quickly; and faster than he would have thought possible, Kershean was able to put his struggles with Samara behind him, instead focusing on snow ball battle strategies.

After the two men were sufficiently soaked, Hem led the way back to his camp and his warm fire. "Using ice was the work of a genius Kershean," Hem congratulated, "If only Daemon was still around, we could give him the bruises he deserves."

Kershean was instantly serious," Do you think he will ever come back?"

"How will he find us? No, we have seen all we will see of him."

"I wish I could be as optimistic."

"What has made you so critical Kershean? Surely not your time with the humans?"

"They are worthy of this earth Hem! Not us!"

Hem rubbing his raw hands over the flames of the fire, "I never said otherwise. But we have our loyalty, our tribe to consider."

"Sometimes I think…Nevermind."

Hem looked at him carefully before deciding it was best to not push. For now anyway, "Are you hungry?" He asked instead.

"Not for dried beef if that's what you are offering."

Hem shook his head and grinned, "I have fresh bread, cheese, and some fruit."

Kershean looked it over with a critical eye, it was all perfectly formed, "Did you steal this? You have been given Euro's, correct? You can buy food with it."

"I did not steal. Is that what you think of me?"

Kershean was shamed, "I am sorry my friend. I expect it of the others. I should not have thought so low of you."

"Why do you hate our family so?"

"I do not hate them. I only wish they would understand things better."

"I was right, the humans _have_ changed you."

Kershean smiled sadly, "I suppose they have. You know what I was thinking tonight? Why not lead the humans right to the tribe, let them battle it out. Decide who was superior that way." His face turned dark, "The humans have these large facilities, called zoos. They keep animals there that interest them, or ones that are dying out. We would fit right in."

Hem's eyes narrowed, "That would be something Daemon might have done."

"And that is the only thought that has stopped me," Kershean sighed. "And Samara. She would be disappointed."

Hem's face brightened, "You love her then?"

Kershean smiled stupidly, "I truly do."

Hem clapped his hand hard on Kershean's shoulder, precisely where he had pelted him earlier with a few ice-encrusted snowballs. Kershean winced, "Then my friend, let the groveling begin!"

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	14. Chapter 13

**This isn't what I wanted, or probably as good as my usual, but I'm stumped, so I decided to post it anyway.**

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_**Let's hear from Samara shall we?**_

**Chapter 13**

It had been one of those days that from the beginning was destined to fail. When you look in the mirror in the morning and couldn't help but scowl at yourself. All day, snow threatened, making the landscape of campus bleak in its starkness. The reckless abandon of my friend, the unadorned oak tree was not an image I wanted to contemplate today. Usually its shape reminded me of tenacity. Today, it only reminded me of desolation in the face of adversity. No one should be forced to compromise as this tree had.

My shift at the café was extended by 45 minutes because Maria my replacement was late. As usual. "Desolee Samara. My child Jean Jacques was sick this morning."

I sighed and refrained from rolling my eyes. Just barely. Maria's kids were always sick. There were at least a dozen of them and they all lived along with her and her aging mother in a one room flat.

Yeah right.

But George our shift manager was sweet on her and wasn't likely to listen to my complaints. "It's fine, Maria. I have to get to class now." There were so many things I would have rather said but I refrained myself, hoping it showed my maturity.

Predictably, I was severely late. My marks had plummeted in this particular class. Both because I was tardy and because the material had become more challenging as the semester had progressed. The final examen was to be the next evening and I wasn't sure I had a chance of passing it. Or the class, really. I had explained my circumstances to the Prof., or at least a modified version of them, and while he didn't call attention to my tardiness, he didn't do much else to help. Instead he magnanimously suggested that I find someone with who I could share notes. Yippee.

My bad attitude did not improve once I arrived home. All the lights were off, and the area was dim. "Just great," I muttered to myself, "Power is out, better call the super." Then I realized that the new fancy telephones that our superintendent had _just_ installed were connected to the power lines. I resisted the urge to scream.

"Samara is that you?"

I nearly knocked my head into the ceiling in my surprise. He, at least from the sound of his voice, had not had the kind of day I had. Wonderful.

And then I _really_ looked at the rest of the room. On the floor Kershean had piled a set of pillows into a pseudo-chair much like how they looked back at camp. Beside them lay a bouquet of evergreen boughs and holly. Several candles were lit, alighting his handsome and hopeful face.

"Kershean." My voice was breathless, "What did you…? Why…? Is this for me?"

He half shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. It wasn't often that I had seen that particular emotion flit across his face. "Uh…yeah." He rubbed at his forehead.

We hadn't spoken to each other at all yesterday-the day after "the incident"-and this morning he was already gone when I woke up. Which was difficult to do seeing as I worked the 4-9 am shift at the cafe.

"It's lovely."

"This isn't everything. Wait right there." He pointed a finger towards the pillows and then disappeared into the kitchen. Then he was back suddenly, his arms brushing at mine, making the hair stand on end. "Oh, I forgot! Allow me to help you."

"Help me?"

"It is customary for a gentleman to lead his lady to a seat." He put his hand around my waist, and pulled me to the pillows, setting me among them as gently as if I was a baby. "I'll be right back!"

I leaned into the pillows, confused at his words and giddy at his touch. Not a good combination. I felt like I might vomit at any moment. Or jump him.

I fingered one of the glossy holly leaves avoiding its sharp edges. He had brought these for me, handpicked from the forest. There was something so right about that. I closed my eyes and smelled the pine, its aroma reminding me of our travels together, remembering every touch, every glance we had shared and wondered what _they_ had meant to him.

Before my thoughts could become too dangerous, Kershean returned, balancing a large steaming bowl in his hands. "I have prepared you some sustenance."

His words were exceptionally formal, and I was too timid to ask what was happening. It was probably safer not to.

Kershean placed the bowl in front of me, warm brown liquid with curling noodles, "Instant soup?" My words did not sound enthusiastic, I quickly covered, "This looks great!" Kershean beamed at me.

"I wanted to make you something. You always cook, you deserve a rest."

"Thank you." I looked at his now empty hands. "Aren't you eating?"

"I do not require anything now." What was going on? This couldn't just be about dinner. His words were odd and oddly spoken.

He had something on his mind. I knew what had been on my mind, nipping at the edges for the last day and half, eroding my recently rebuilt self-confidence, taunting me. Kershean must be thinking about it too. And he probably wanted to talk about it again. I slurped up a good portion of my soup, loudly.

"Does it taste well?"

I nodded and shoved more soup into my mouth. I dared a look up at him, he was slightly cowering, sitting with his back hunched and his legs pulled up to his chest. His fingers were tugging at his pants. "You are so beautiful!" he finally blurted out.

I surely didn't feel particularly so, just then, as I gulped down the large strands of noodles that had been hanging between my lips and then proceeded to coughed up some broth. Hadn't been expecting that.

"Does it make you uncomfortable that I think that?"

"With food hanging out of my mouth, yes it certainly does!" I cringed as that came out harsher than I had anticipated. And it also didn't help that I had never felt beautiful a day in my life.

There was a long silence before Kershean reached forward to trace a finger down my cheek, "I didn't even notice."

"Oh. Well, uh, thank you then, I guess."

"You don't believe me. You are truly beautiful. Has no one ever told you so before?"

I shook my head.

"I should have been telling you every day then," He berated himself.

Suddenly he looked up, his eyes scorching, as he regarded me, heating every inch, "You know what I think your best feature is? It's your hair." My hair was coarse and tangled, but he didn't seem to notice it as he wrapped one curl around his finger. He tugged at it, sending tingles down my spine.

He gently unwound his finger, his palms coming up to caress my cheeks as he moved closer, "Or maybe it is your eyes. Do you know what one look from you does to me?" He stopped a hair's breadth from me, a smile tugging on his lips.

Without warning, his mouth attacked mine and the force pushed my body back into the pillows. He fell too, one hand curled back in my hair, the other wrapped around my shoulders. He was not careful and his lips battered my own, bruising them to a dark red. His tongue stroked my teeth, urging my mouth open. I was beyond thinking, caught up, especially when he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth to suckle at it. He groaned and pushed himself up to hover over me, his chest heaving for air.

"You do not know what you do to me. You are the temptress and I am your slave, your willing captive." Softly, he kissed me again, an action that was short but affectionate. His eyes were narrowed concernedly as he looked into mine, "I love you," I colored and tried to look away, but one hand guided my face back gently, "You will believe me one day."

He helped me back up and gave me my bowl once again. "Eat. I will sit over here." He moved himself away, onto the sofa and folded his hands across his chest. I chanced to look at him as I finished my soup, but he was not looking in my direction, instead his eyes were focused on the window, looking out into the darkness, the knuckles of his fingers were white as they gripped at his arms.

"Will you be studying again this evening?" He was formal, nervous again, but his eyes turned to lock with mine, restrained passion staring back at me.

I stuttered for a moment before I finally remembered his question, "Oh! Yeah, my final examen is tomorrow evening. I have some more reading to do."

"I would not want to keep you from it," yet his regretful tone said otherwise. "I'll just…" He jumped to his feet, "I will be in my room if you need me then."

But a moment later, it was the bathroom door that I heard closing, and I smiled wirily Perhaps he really did mean it I considered as the water of the shower switched on. Perhaps they just weren't words to him.

I rose early the next morning, groggy from having stayed up late reading. My eyes were only half opened and stinging as I followed my nose to the kitchen. Why did it smell like the coffee had already been brewed? Must be my imagination. I pulled a warm sweater over my head, and yawned, scratching at my back.

"Good morning Samara."

"Yipes!" I jumped, then jumped again when I realized I had nearly walked into him.

"I'm sorry I startled you. It's just…" he smiled lightly, "You seemed like you were going to walk right into me. Would you like some breakfast? I made coffee and toast."

"I'm uh…oh shoot!" I shouted as I got a look at the clock, "I'm going to be late if I don't leave now! Can I have it 'to go'?"

"What is…?"

"It means I'll have to eat it on the way." I gave him an absent kiss on the cheek, "Thanks Kershean!"

It was cold outside. Colder than it had ever been. Winter was truly here. For the next few months I would be wrapped up in warm sweaters and knit hats. And snow.

But I wasn't thinking of any of that. Instead, my mind went back to the boy, still up in our apartment. Who had made me dinner the evening before, and had now offered me breakfast. What was going on? Was he feeling guilty for refusing my advances? Trying to soften the blow by treating me so nicely?

That didn't seem right though. There was no guilt in his eyes, or even in his words. Instead there was some type of determination, and a decisive awkwardness that I couldn't help but find incredibly endearing. I remembered a time when I had mistaken such awkwardness for something else and had hated him for his harsh words and austere actions. But it was so different now.

Not long ago, right after our apartment had been broken into, Kershean disappeared. I shuddered as I remembered the loneliness that had consumed me. I had been certain that he was headed for the tribe to beg for more Euros. But after the anger dissipated, I noted the startling silence of our empty apartment, and loneliness replaced all else. A loneliness that stabbed at my insides and squeezed at my heart. I knew he was coming back. At least I was pretty sure he was. But we had fought, and both of us had been incredibly stubborn.

What if he wasn't coming back? And that was when I knew. Now that I could only hope for his return, I knew what I should have told him. What I had been avoiding saying because Daemon had said it and not meant it.

I was in love with Kershean. He was everything.

It had come on so gradually, snuck up on me until it now consumed me. I had almost told him. The perfect moment, the second he had returned, his eyes fired with hope and passion. But I hadn't done it. And I wasn't sure now that I regretted the missed opportunity. After he had rejected my body I surely hadn't. But I was in turmoil again. Maybe I should have told him. Unfortunately a larger part of me was wondering if he was playing with me. What was he up to?

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	15. Chapter 14

**100! Wahoo! So very excited! (Did you catch the 6 exclamation points?) **

**I've been working on this as hard as I can to get it out fast.**

_**This chapter will cover more ground…Also, I have never been in a supermarche around the holidays so if I got something wrong, OOPS!**_

_Taswmom: Don't stress __ I know where it is going; just sometimes I don't know how to get there!_

_Jelly Babes 101, my 100__th__ reviewer: This is for you…_

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**Chapter 14**

"Kershean! Kershean, are you here? I could use some help."

Kershean found his way down the hall towards the sound of wood scraping against the floor, his eyebrows already knitted together. He stopped short when he saw the smallish pine tree trying to push its way through the front door. He was sure he had heard Samara call, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, her head popped up from behind the tree, needles stuck in her hair, "Kershean, there you are! Can you help me get this inside?"

Kershean blinked at her and then at the tree, "Uh…is there a reason…?"

"Yes! Help now, talk later!"

So, Kershean took hold of the tree by a few of its branches and gently eased it into the room. Samara pushed it to the corner of the salon beside the window, jostling it around until it was upright. "Perfect!" Breathing heavy, she plopped onto the sofa, her hand thrown over her eyes, "I had to drag that thing for 3 blocks! I'm exhausted."

"Why is it here?"

Her hand came away from her eyes so that she could look at him, but his expression was open and curious, he really wanted to know, "It's for Christmas."

He frowned for a moment before his brow finally cleared, "I have heard of this, but what is the purpose of the tree?"

"Part of the fun! You decorate it and then you exchange gifts on New Year's Eve! It's my favorite holiday."

"Holiday?" The poor boy sounded as if each additional word out of her mouth was painful to hear.

Samara resolved to be patient, "It's a time to spend with family and friends. This will be the first year," she suddenly blushed and lowered her eyes, "I'm not all alone."

"Oh."

"I mean, unless you don't want to celebrate." She scrambled, "I thought it might be fun. There isn't much money so we don't have to exchange gifts, but I could teach you some Christmas carols and we could at least decorate the tree."

"Gifts?"

"Forget I said it," She waved her hand like a magician's, "But I still want to do the other stuff. So what do you think?" She looked up at him pleadingly.

This was one of the odder things that Samara had ever subjected Kershean to. There was no odd food-tasting or kissing on park benches, but she had never steered him wrong before, and he really wanted to please her after his latest gaffe, "I think it is a good idea."

"Really?" He nodded and she grinned, "Well, good then; I'll go get the apples!"

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Though Kershean tried to put it out of his head, he could not give up the idea of getting Samara a present. He had seen the way her eyes had lit up briefly at the mention of gifts. He was almost certain that it would be something she would appreciate. It would be an excellent way to _show_ her how he felt about her. And perhaps it fit into what Hem deemed as groveling. Thankfully the concept of receiving gifts was not unknown to him, when he had reached his majority at 16 there had been a gift. And on the day of his birth, one of the cooks usually made sure that there were baked eggs for him. But he had never offered a gift to someone else. He would have much rather carved Samara something-as he was pretty good with a knife-but he was rapidly running out of time for such an endeavor.

There were a few human stores that he was familiar with which might carry something that would be an acceptable present: The supermarche, the boucherie, and Samara's café. He instantly crossed off the café since he didn't want Samara to know what he was up to. The boucherie, he contemplated before passing over it as well. He did not believe that Samara would appreciate a leg of lamb or a filet of beef.

So it was to be the supermarche. It was quiet that evening, the night before Christmas Eve Samara had told him. He had just passed the packaged chips, and began to wonder at his "brilliant" plan. Chips, he believed, only came out of animals. Why were humans packaging and selling those? He hurried to a new aisle, hoping that somewhere there was something that Samara would actually enjoy. Kershean found himself in the frozen food aisle, and breathed in the cold, closing his eyes to remember home. The chill settled into his skin, familiar and comfortable.

He spent several minutes, remembering what true cold felt like before he hurried himself along. There would be nothing for Samara in the frozen food aisle. He wondered if she enjoyed the cold the way he and the rest of the tribe did. She grumbled about the weather often, now that it had turned colder.

Would she ever be truly at home with the tribe? That bothered him. And when he thought of his father and Pithe, he suddenly wondered if he himself would ever be truly at home among their people.

"M'aidez-vous?" A low sultry female voice asked to Kershean's immediate left.

He greeted her very formally, uncomfortable with how her eyelashes were fluttering at him, "I am looking for a special gift for my lady."

She frowned and muttered under her breath, "Why are all the good ones taken?"

"Pardon-moi?'

"Why are you in the supermarche then? There are some fabulous boutiques just around the corner."

Kershean had no idea what a boutique was, but he also knew that asking such a question was not wise, "We do not have much money. I am looking for something simple."

Her frown turned to a heavy scowl, "We have books and a couple of Christmas decorations. Over in aisle 3."

Kershean thanked her for her time and followed the wall signs to aisle 3. The book selection was meager, and while he found several titles that sounded interesting, he was overly concerned about the pictures of half-naked women and men on the cover. He frowned at them and moved determinedly onward.

Further along there was decorative paper and brightly colored plastic ribbons. And sitting on its own display were small glass globes with winter scenes inside. Kershean's sharp eyes took in every detail, each nuance before he read the accompanied sign, "Snow globe music boxes." He picked one up, inspecting it carefully until he noticed the small key on the bottom. Noel Nouvelle began playing, one of the Christmas Carols that Samara had taught him. He looked inside the globe again, at the landscape scene and decided it was perfect.

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I had been working longer and longer hours at the café, trying to save money before my time was split between work and school again. Maria was appreciative as it meant she could stay at home with her "brood" of children-or lovers. I suspected the latter, George, the manager, was sure it was the former. I didn't dare argue since the full control of my paycheck was in his small, stubby fingertips.

The final shift before Christmas Eve my back was aching and I was fidgeting my feet about trying to find a more comfortable position. The pain was almost worth it; I had made a modest amount of Euros, and managed to buy a small cooked chicken and a Yule log cake for Christmas Eve dinner. The last time I'd had a slice had been back in the Orphanage and the cake while delicious had to be share amongst 20 hungry children. This year it would be only for the two of us.

I was unsure about my other purchase. Unsure of how he would react to receiving a gift from me. Unsure of how to even present it to him. It was carefully wrapped and hidden away in my sac a dos. Maybe I wouldn't give it to him. Perhaps that would be the best idea.

But if he actually liked it? Few times had I seen such delight on Kershean's face. The first time was when I took him to the cinema, the other when I told him about kissing on park benches-our very first "date"... His eyes brightened almost to brown, his cheeks turning red and his lips upturning ever so slightly.

But what if he didn't like it? What if he only humored me? I halted that negative thought. Lately, Kershean had been so kind, walking me home from work, making me breakfast every morning, and kissing me affectionately whenever I left the house.

After I had spotted a few broken dishes in the trash and noticed that the floor had been recently scrubbed, I even suspected that he had taken to cleaning the apartment, mimicking the things he saw me do around our home. Kershean would never "humor" me.

What if though, by giving him the gift I only made him feel guilty for not getting me anything? Would he then run out and buy something for me to stare at and realize that it was some kind of a pity gift? This Christmas was turning out to be a lot more stressful than I had planned for!

The doorbell dinged and Kershean entered the café. I checked the clock. I had successfully worried myself to the end of my shift.

"Are you ready to go, my beautiful Samara?"

I blushed scarlet at his phrasing and he grinned widely. There was that too. At least daily, sometimes every time he saw me, Kershean would make some type of remark about how attractive he thought I was.

It is interesting what that kind of a phrase does to you. Each day I smiled at myself in the mirror more and more and I became confident that my hair was not nearly as tangled as I had always believed. I was loved, and someone thought me beautiful. And I was pretty sure he was right.

"My shift just ended," I smiled at Kershean, "Let me just get my coat and I'll be ready to go."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. I cursed George again, for taking it upon himself to talk with _both_ of us about limiting our public displays of affection while inside the café. Just because he wasn't getting any didn't mean he had to doom the rest of us to an imposed celibacy.

As soon as I put on my coat, Kershean pulled me outside of the café and into a small neighboring alcove away from George's prying eyes. I was in his arms in a blink, "I am so glad that was your last shift," his voice rumbled in my ear as he held me close.

"Mmm, so am I." I looked to my left noticing a familiar sign, something that Kershean had never tried before, "Are you hungry? I have an idea."

By now he was used to me trying to humanize him and so he just shrugged and let me lead him across the street. He raised a solitary eyebrow at my order, "That looks completely inedible."

"Hey!" I pointed one greasy fry at him, "Don't knock it until you try it."

"I think I will wait until supper."

I smiled at him a bit guiltily, "This is supper, actually."

He gulped thickly before raising a fry to his lips, hesitating, then biting down. His lips puckered for a moment as he began to chew. Then his eyes brightened, "This is actually quite good. Is the Big Ape as tasty?"

"The Big Mac? It is so yummy! I think it is their best sandwich."

"I have never seen this restaurant before." He looked around us at the tile floors and plastic yellow chairs.

"Really?" I asked bemusedly, "They're all over the place. Macdo's are rather popular."

He shoved a whole handful of fries into his mouth chewing happily, "Maybe we should eat here more often."

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The next day our apartment was a flurry of activity as I prepared the Christmas Feast. Or tried to. Though I had purchased the chicken precooked, there was still a vegetable to prepare and potatoes to bake. I was certain I had followed the directions very carefully, but still I had managed to boil the green beans into oblivion. So we were down a vegetable and I was now eyeing the potatoes warily.

Kershean entered the kitchen cautiously: I had been irritable with him all morning. "Can I help?"

"No!" His eyes widened and I scrubbed at my forehead, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. This hasn't exactly been working out like I planned."

"We could go to Macdo for dinner?" His eyes glistened at me like a hopeful little boy's.

I giggled, "If this is a complete and utter failure I guess there is always that."

"So, with that to look forward to, can I help?"

"You aren't going to purposefully destroy my meal just so you can have another Big Mac are you?" I planted my hands on my hips.

His eyes were large and innocent, "Of course not."

"Kershean!" I scowled at him.

He came closer, hugging me to him, nestling my head into his shoulder, "You know I would not do that."

I sighed, "I know."

"So, I _am_ going to help. What can I do?"

I picked up a slip of paper and handed it to him, already missing the warmth his arms offered, "Try and make sense of this."

He looked it over for a long moment, his frown deepening with every word he read. Then with a manly shrug after pushing up his sleeves he asked, "What is a grater exactly, then?"

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On New Year's Eve, Kershean was nervous. Now that the day of the gift-giving had arrived, he suddenly had doubts. What if he had mistaken her interest in receiving a present? He had been wrong about many things before.

He wrapped the globe into a soft goat pelt and pushed it into the distant corner of his closet. Perhaps he should just forget about it.

Samara arrived home from work, fidgeting and nervous. "Did you want some dinner? I can make us something. Or we could go out. What about you? I mean, what do you want to do?"

"Samara, is something wrong?"

"No," she smiled widely, showing far too many teeth, "Everything is fine. I'm going to go see what kind of food we have in the kitchen."

Had she suspected that he had bought a gift for her when she had expressly told him not to? That must be it. He resolved to shove the tan-wrapped gift even further back into the recesses of his closet.

He was just about to do so, when for once, Samara startled him by suddenly appearing at his side, "I um, here," she shoved a brightly wrapped package at him, and then almost ran back into the kitchen, "I just, uh, wanted to get you something. You can open it, or just throw it away and pretend…"

He followed her into the kitchen deeply touched, "Samara?"

But she would not look at him instead she was dutifully searching through the cabinets. "I think we could have some noodles and sauce again. That was pretty good last time."

"Samara?"

"Or, maybe we still have some potatoes left over from Christmas. Aha! We do!"

She emerged from the cabinet and sidestepped past, refusing to look at him. He cornered her between the sink and the refrigerator, pushing her up against a wall, "Samara?"

She stubbornly looked at her shoes. With one palm, he cupped her chin, raising her eyes to his. Any regret on her part instantly melted away when she saw the pure unadulterated joy gazing back at her, "You got me a gift."

"I…It's Christmas." She whispered.

"Yes, I know," he said very seriously. "I'll be right back."

"Oh but you didn't have to get…"

"Too late!" He declared rather smugly she thought. She could hear him moving towards his bedroom. He was back and grinning in a moment and handed her a soft animal-pelt wrapped object. "Open yours first."

He watched carefully as she unfolded it, "It's a snow globe!"

"Look inside."

Samara squinted, "It looks a bit like my old lycée."

"Where we met. I remember I was standing under a tree just like this one," He pointed to a tree inside of the globe, "The very first moment I saw you."

Samara suddenly turned bright red before muttering under her breath, "I had hoped you had forgotten how awful I looked that day."

He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"I saw the way you looked at me, Kershean." He noticed that she was backing away from him slowly, her face closing up.

"I was a fool." He shook his head slightly, "You must know that I regret such behavior. I have tried so hard to be better. To prove myself worthy of you. Please forgive me, ignorant and immature as I once was. You are beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world." He advanced towards her to touch her cheek, "Surely you must know that you are the only one for me. I could never want another." He placed the snow globe in her hands, "When you look at it, remember instead that this was the first moment we each saw our destiny."

"Wow."

"What?"

"What you said, just wow."

"I meant every word," he looked at her earnestly.

"I believe you." She said as she searched his eyes. "But…here. This is for you." She gave him the brightly wrapped box again, "I hope you don't think…Well it's a little…After what you gave me…"

He smiled softly, "My first gift from my beautiful Samara. How could I not love it?" Once he had opened it though, and stared at it blankly, she couldn't help the look of consternation that clouded her features. "You got me a snow globe."

"Yes, um, look inside." She tittered nervously, "It has a teepee, right there! It reminded me of our tribe. Just like home. I wanted you to know that I don't regret anything. I am grateful for who I am."

Kershean held onto Samara tightly then, her chin finding its place on his shoulder, "I love you."

Not soon after, a few fireworks lit the night sky, and awed they each watched, hoping that the next year would bring excessive degrees of happiness for both of them.

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_**Hope you all enjoyed this. 3000 words! I know I said I would have it up much earlier than this, but so much needed to be taken care of! As it is, I had to cut it off a bit early since it was getting so big. The next chapter is THE moment. It might take a while, since T-rated spice (No lemons I promise!) is not really my forte. **_


	16. Chapter 15

**JamiGodzilla**

**Jan**

**Gigi**

**Samantha**

**Tinababy1**

**Soni**

**Darshu89**

**Johonna Marie**

**INeededAName**

**Mistress Mina**

**YOU GUYS STILL OUT THERE?**

**A2O, W2D, Dancing Petals, Dorothee, Foxfire Inari, JB 101, Sapphire Dawn, taswmom, SaphfireFlame, Katie, Thanks guys! Your words of encouragement mean so much to me! **

_**With that said, I completely hate this. It's just…Ugh…I can't even describe it! Told you I wasn't very good at this passionate stuff (even when it's only T!).**_

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**Chapter 15**

It wasn't working. Not like he hoped it would. He had groveled, he was almost sure that she trusted him again, and while that gave him a sense of comfort, his libido was still complaining. He was having a hard time thinking beyond it. Since he had caught sight of Samara exiting the bathroom in a towel-and only a towel. With the tantalizing flesh of her legs exposed to mid-thigh and the tops of her…but this wasn't helping!

And he had just cut his thumb. Crimson dribbled down the counter in the kitchen and onto the chicken he was preparing. Or trying to. He bandaged his hand as fast as he could, the wrap uncooperative and much larger than he would need, but he wanted to finish the chicken before Samara arrived home. It was a special day for her and he was determined that she would _know_ that she was special to him as well. This would be his last ditch effort, his final idea. And if it didn't work perhaps he would need to find that arctic lake after all.

He had tried so hard to change, to not be awkward anymore. To say to her what he always wanted to, instead of the jumble that inevitably came out. And as he had grown more comfortable with Samara, it didn't take much effort anymore to tell her exactly how he felt.

Unfortunately, his new comfort did not extend to things of a more intimate nature. He had hoped that _she_ would once again take the initiative. If he groveled, if he showed her how he truly felt, maybe she would try to initiate things again. But she hadn't. And if he…but in Odessa when he had felt confident, she had rejected him. Should he wait? He didn't want to. He was literally living in the shower these days. Which was why he had seen Samara in the towel and the tops of her…

He needed a distraction, now that the chicken was done. Finding a class schedule book, he avidly read it, trying to find anything of interest. He repeated the words to himself, hardly hearing, "Economics-fiscal policy as a whole, Ecology-our relationship to our brother the ape, Environmentalism-the world and its people."

"Did you say something Kershean?" Samara had poked her head around his door, looking rumpled and tired from a long shift at the café. She smelled of fried foods and coffee.

Delicious.

The book dropped from his fingers and he stalked towards her like a cat. He had wanted this day to be special. For her to know that he had remembered. Now that he had seen her, he didn't care about any of that anymore. "Samara you are home," he cooed.

Her eyes widened and she took a step backwards, "You know, I'm kind of smelly. I think I'm going to go shower."

"No!" He shouted. She jumped and he lowered his voice as he brought his lips right up to her ear, "I like you like this. You look beautiful."

Samara surreptitiously sniffed at her shirt, "I smell like month old potatoes and bad coffee."

Kershean drew in a long breath through his nose, "Delicious!" He was tired; so very tired of denying his passion. He wanted her. "Very desirable." Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, "You should never think otherwise. You must forgive my stupidity for unintentionally deceiving you," his voice pleaded.

Her body stiffened against his as she realized what he was speaking of. That disastrous night! She had hoped to forget it and here he was bringing it up! He pulled away to look at her carefully, "I am ashamed of my actions Samara. I am however more ashamed to know that I lost your trust in those moments of idiocy. I promised never to hurt you."

"I just…" she stammered then turned red, "I wanted you to want me."

He couldn't resist any longer, he pulled her to him, his lips telling her what his words could not, tangling with hers, dominating, loving. When he finally released her they were both breathless, "Oh, but I do."

"...well…" But he didn't let her finish because one taste would not be enough. Not tonight. He molded her lips to his own, tasting and exploring almost immediately. His fingers found their way to her neck, tipping it, as his tongue delved even further, stroking hers with a barely restrained desperation.

He worried about hurting her, and he forced himself away from her mouth, placing soft kisses onto her cheeks, her eyelids, her ears. He could hear her sighing heavily and he lingered at the corner of her mouth, his own stomach overcome with heat and lust. Samara's hands wormed their way into his hair, tugging his closer. Very gently his tongue began tracing the outline of her lips.

Samara felt like she was on fire. Any moment she was sure she would explode. Never had it been like this, Kershean so masterful and resolute. Carefully, methodically, he took her lips again, adoring them, a slow burn of want and need starting to build. She wanted the raging inferno, but Kershean was determined to go slow, to take his time, each move only slightly more intense than the last.

His eyes found hers, black as coal he gazed at her, his perusal strong and passionate. His words were deep and adoring, "You are so beautiful."

Tenderly his hands stroked her arms raising goose bumps across her skin. It was a soothing movement and her body relaxed under his touch.

This time it was her that initiated the kiss, her fingertips stroking his elbows as her lips shyly coaxed his into submission. He commanded himself to allow her to set the pace, responding to each kiss, but no more. It was important that she knew no matter how much he wanted to, he would not push her. Her legs were beginning to weaken, too many hours on her feet at the café, she pushed him slowly backward, towards the couch. He went willingly, overcome by her. They fell together, her immediately nestling into his chest, hands ghosting over his biceps and neck. He tucked her knees up around his hips and circled his arms tightly around her back, fusing their bodies together.

For Samara, it suddenly seemed that the room was entirely too warm. She tugged off her heavy sweater in one quick motion, her hair standing on end from the static. Kershean could not keep his eyes away from her, his stare devouring her from her neck to her waist, now only covered by a tiny t-shirt. Samara blushed heavily.

Kershean was wearing a light blue button-up, loose and un-tucked, and entirely too _there._ With shaking hands, Samara undid each button exposing his chest. Suddenly timid, she stopped at the last button and pulled her fingers away.

Kershean grabbed them, kissing each fingertip before slowly brushing her fingers across his pectorals, shivering as they teased his over-heated skin. Her fingers drifted down, tickling his ribs, circling his belly button. Kershean intertwined one of her hands with his own, his larger palm circling and protecting hers. He spread her fingers wide laying her opened hand over his heart.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide as she felt his heart beating erratic and very fast, "That is what you do to me," he whispered. He pulled her head to his chest encircling her, protecting her. He held her, stroking her back very softly until their hearts beating in tandem, slowed, and their breath steadied. Ever so slowly and trembling slightly, his fingers moved to her waist, and gingerly disappearing beneath her shirt. Her skin was warm, and so very soft. He stroked it carefully, wantonly, and she shivered in response. He immediately shifted away from her but his fingers refused to be moved from her skin. Her eyes were hooded with lust, focused and fired. When her own mouth met his with fervor, and her tongue slipped between his lips, he forgot all of his reservations immediately. Her body was aching with desire as she pressed every bit of her exposed flesh against his trying to placate the fire.

"Take me to bed," she finally whispered longingly, in between pants.

*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*

The sun had defied a cloud to shine upon the two lovers as Samara and Kershean lay sweaty and still tangled together, "Happy Birthday Sam," Kershean, circled his arm around her waist to kiss her exposed shoulder.

"It is my birthday today isn't it?" She clutched at his arm holding him tighter.

His eyebrows furrowed, "Did you never know?"

"Not until my mother told me. I can't believe it has almost been a year since I last saw her," She mused, "Is that why you had out the candles and the fried chicken and noodles in the kitchen?"

"What else would it be for?" His tone was geniuine and innocent, and Samara felt like a heel for asking,

"I thought you were…Oh never mind!"

His fingertips traced her spine, "Now I'm really curious, Especially with you being so flustered," he hummed in her ear, lazily.

She shook her head. Slowly, he began to kiss her neck at the hollow just beneath her ear, something he had recently learned that she particularly enjoyed, "I thought you were trying to seduce me," she finally capitulated as her breathing intensified.

"Oh…" his cheeks turned red under his tan, "That would have been a brilliant plan, but sadly I did not think of it. Just an added bonus to your birthday celebration."

She turned her head away, and he was privileged to learn that when she blushed it wasn't just confined to her face.

"Samara?"

"I've just been an idiot that's all." She buried her face into the pillows her voice muffled, "I thought you felt sorry for me because I threw myself at you the other night."

"I reacted badly. I guess you caught me a bit off my guard. But that does not change what I feel for you. Say you will forgive me."

She turned to look at him, her eyes boring into his, her hands finding their way to his cheeks. A smile slowly began growing until it was a full-fledged grin. His fingers reached up to touch her dimples, something he had never seen before, "Of course I forgive you," she hummed in pleasure as he began to trace her skin.

Her face took on a speculative look, "Kershean what will I look like when I am old?"

He froze at her abrupt change in conversation, "Um…" he said after a moment, "If you haven't yet died—you will look much as you do now, I expect."

"But my father, the old woman…they are…," she shivered.

"We age until young adulthood, then our growth ceases, much as it does for humans. If we die, our body ages a little more with each new cycle."

Samara remembered the grizzled form of the old woman, "The old woman has died many times then."

"Yes," It was hesitantly spoken and he turned away from her.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"The old woman has never been enthusiastic about this life. She has ended many cycles."

Tears formed in Samara's eyes at such acts, "And still she hasn't turned to dust…"

"It takes a lot for that to occur. And now that she is bedridden she lacks the strength, and no one is willing to aide her."

"Why not? When she is so miserable!"

"We have always been taught that it is not something we would do. I believe that it is because they need her wisdom to remain with the tribe."

Samara nodded a bit absently and chewed on her lip, deep in thought. "Kershean…that means…all this time, it never occurred to me, but your mother? She died in childbirth¸ but why isn't she still…" Kershean looked away again, brushing at his eyes, "Kershean where is she?"

"She was put away much as Daemon was."

Samara sat up, looking indignant, "Why?"

Kershean's eyes focused on her bare chest and he tried to ignore the thoughts that swam to the forefront of his mind, "It was decided that she weak," he said in a much huskier voice than he had thought possible.

Unfortunately Samara was completely oblivious to the feelings she was stirring within her mate, "Have you seen her?"

"Yes." He managed to cough out.

Samara cuddled to him, her arms wrapping around him worried that the conversation was disturbing him, "But you haven't spoken to her," she prodded him gently.

"It is forbidden." Kershean said matter-of-factly.

"Has this happened before?" Her voice had taken on a suspicious note, Kershean hoped that she didn't sit up again or they would never finish their conversation.

"Sometimes."

"To be put away because you are…?"

Kershean rubbed her back, trying to calm her ire, "The counsel calls it a weakness. Women should bear strong children and remain strong themselves."

"Couldn't she have born more children in her next life?"

He frowned for a long moment, his lips pursing as he considered, "I don't think that has ever been thought of before."

"How hasn't that occurred to any of you?" She tried to keep her voice moderate.

"For a long time we were separate and kin would not mate with kin so there were no children. Much about the curse is still unknown."

"How did you know Daemon would come back to life then? He could have been gone forever. What if the children were not cursed like the parents?" She fretted.

"We did not know, we only suspected. The children have always been strong, just like the parents. But none have ever encountered anything fatal. That was why Daemon's case and eventual conviction was so grave."

There was a long moment of silence as each thought those fateful words, "What might have been."

She changed the subject, "So my mother and your mother birthed children and it was never considered that they could have more after every new life was started? They probably had us after they'd already expended a few cycles. Did anyone never think of that?"

"Back before the change, we were…um…children did not come easily…what's the word when it is difficult to ah…"

"Infertile?"

"Yes, infertile, or nearly. A Neanderthal female was lucky to bear one child. Two were almost unheard of. And if it happened the mother would surely expire. We have always assumed I suppose, that the curse would not change that. And because my mother died we've never tried for more once a new cycle began."

"So your mother is out there somewhere alone?" There was a certain sparkle in her eye. She had made some sort of decision. He hoped that someday she would get around to telling him what it was but it would not be today for Samara had sat up once again.


	17. Chapter 16

**Alright two things: first I know I said I would have this out earlier but I had company this week! Second, this is a lot longer than I had planned, hope you enjoy…**

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**Chapter 16**

Kershean found himself getting particularly excited. Samara and he had decided to attend a lecture series together on global environmentalism, something which interested him greatly. He had a great respect for the earth, having been raised to believe that his people reverenced it long before the arrival of the humans. What would the humans have to say?

Campus was chilly and Kershean was glad he had shrugged on a coat. He wasn't particularly cold, but it helped keep up appearances. Samara was to meet him inside the classroom, and he was grateful, he wouldn't want her sitting outside in this cold. She had never quite adapted to it.

Through the double doors, and halfway up the aisle by the window, and there she was. She sat up straighter as soon as she saw him entering and gave him a little wave. He could feel his own face splitting with a grin.

"Sam," he breathed as he dropped a light kiss on her mouth. He looked around again, "This is a large room." And it was; the lecture hall would easily sit 200 students.

"My economics lecture last term was in this room."

"The one with that difficult final?"

"I think I had a caffeine buzz for a full week after that."

"Caffeine buzz? Oh you mean you were hyperactive?"

She cringed, "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"It would have been hard not to notice; you were walking around singing that song about the Champs Elysée, in a high falsetto voice."

Her eyes got a faraway look in them, "Oh yeah-good times! I could sing some of it for you if you are going through withdrawals."

Thankfully at that moment, le prof chose to begin his lecture. In a slow deep voice he began speaking of the affects humans were having on the world, beginning with the Utopia of the first forefathers. The simple society of ancient hunters and gatherers, and how it had all changed once fire was discovered. Of gas guzzling vehicles in the Americas, and the extensive littering problem all over Europe.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kershean saw Samara beginning to fidget a bit, tapping a pencil lightly against her denim-clad knee. He grabbed the tapping hand lightly, intercrossing his fingers with hers. She looked up at him blushing darkly before bending to attentively scribble something into her notebook.

The professor was just starting on the topic of proper recycling, when Kershean felt the tips of Samara's fingers suddenly on the outside of his thigh. His back straightened immediately, and he looked at her. Her eyes were still watching Le Prof as she began drawing languid patterns. He looked from side to side at the other students. They were mostly all focused on Le Prof, though there were some idly doodling, and a few asleep and already snoring. Not one of them noticed Samara's motions. He felt her hand squeeze at his knee, and he looked back at her. She gestured with her head towards the front where le prof was still speaking.

He tried to focus, as Samara circled his knee, then ran her fingernails up and down his thigh. He nearly hissed when her palm gently caressed the underside of his knee. "Shh!" she warned him quietly, her chest heaving as she tried to suppress her giggles.

She began drawing more patterns onto his knees, swirls, squares, and half circles. Suddenly her fingers paused, midair hovering. He looked over at her again, her eyebrows were drawn, contemplating something that was obviously bothering her. He wondered what it was.

Her hand clamped down on his knee, and he jerked, his back hitting the back of his plastic seat. To him the sound was deafening, but no one seemed to notice. Not even le prof.

Light as a feather, her fingers began tracing a new pattern. It wasn't one he recognized. A triangle with two half circles on the end, a letter I and a V. It was obviously very important to her, her fingers were shaking as she traced it over and over again. Whatever it meant, it felt wonderful against his skin, and he grin lecherously at her. She looked up at him through her lashes. Yes this class together was going to be amusing!

By the next Tuesday night, Kershean was nearly skipping to class. If he got there just as the previous class let out, perhaps he and Samara would have time to try some _other_ things in the back of the room. How thrilling would it be to embrace her knowing that at any moment le prof could enter the room and catch them!

Bur he arrived too early for the room was completely empty, even Samara's chair. Kershean climbed the stairs slowly, eying a scrap of paper, torn out of a notebook and sitting on the seat he'd used the previous class. He grabbed it up as soon as he recognized Samara's even-handed script,

_Kershean,_

_I won't be able to make it to the lecture tonight, or perhaps for the next couple of weeks. I have been assigned a group project and we can only meet at this time. I've talked to Professeur Garot, and he has excused me indefinitely from his lecture series. Sorry I couldn't tell you in person! _

_3 Samara._

While the odd shape right before her name confused him, the rest of her note sent him directly into the doldrums. Samara would not be in class.

He thought of leaving, but he had contemplated too long! Prof Garot entered just then and began setting up some type of presentation. "You there!" He called up to Kershean, "Come help me with this." And for the next 90 minutes Kershean had a miserable time being le professeur's minion at the front of the room.

He was the first out of his seat when the bell rang, and he hardly noticed le prof frown at him as he nearly collided with the man on his way out of the door.

The apartment was lit when he arrived home, and he could hear the soft murmurs of voices from inside. And then a laugh and a chuckle. The laugh was Samara's. The chuckle he did not recognize. For some reason that thought tugged at his stomach. His fingers began fumbling with the door key as he tried to get it opened as quickly as possible.

Sitting so close to the door that Kershean nearly tripped over them was Samara and a boy. Though he didn't look much like a boy to Kershean's eyes. He was about Kershean's age and size, and everything about him screamed "poacher." He tore his eyes away from the boy when he noticed that Samara was speaking. She hadn't moved from her spot on the floor nor had she climbed to her feet to give him their customary greeting, "Kershean this is Jean."

Jean jumped up and stuck out his hand, "So this is the roommate. Nice to meet you," he drawled.

And Kershean saw red. The roommate! He understood the rudimentary meaning of the word well enough to realize that he had just been insulted. He squeezed Jean's hand as tightly as he could before storming down the hall to his room.

Roommate? He hadn't expect Samara to have introduced him as her mate-in human culture he realized that it sounded a bit awkward to be mated to one another without some type of ceremony-as if they were animals...hut he had expected her to at least be honest with this Jean about what they meant to each other. He dropped onto his bed, as his thoughts taking on a dangerous turn.

Samara was _his_ 4 or 5 times a week at least. What if it didn't mean to her what it meant to him? Who knows what her mother, or even her father had told her. They'd had a rocky relationship from the very start; could _they_ have poisoned her mind?

He had told her he loved her many times but she had never returned the emotion. He hadn't worried, understanding that it could take time for her to discover her own feelings. Suddenly it occurred to him that it might never happen. Yes, she would be his; yes, she would bare his children; and he choked back a groan because yes, she might never love him.

He could hear a commotion out in their gathering area, and he tried to bury his head beneath the pillows. It only served to further amplify the noise. What were they doing out there? A few awful things occurred to him.

His bedroom door suddenly flew open, "Kershean? What _was_ that!" Her voice was high-pitched and deadly. It had been a long while since Samara had been this angry with him. Irritated certainly, angry, no.

His head flew up, and his eyes narrowed ready to do battle, "Roommate?"

She frowned at him, "So I didn't want to broadcast our private life to someone I barely know."

"Was that really all?" he hissed, "because I could smell the pheromones wafting off that guy in droves."

Her eyes widened, "Oh I get it." Her nostrils flared, "You're jealous!"

"So what if I am! I had every right to be. He wanted you."

"Jean is a good person, he wouldn't steal me away."

"He probably doesn't even think that would happen," he bellowed, "_roommate!_"

To her credit, Samara barely cringed, "Jean isn't attracted to me like that."

"Oh yes he is. A lot of guys on this campus are. You just don't notice!"

She folded her arms across her chest, "And you do?"

He tapped his nose, "I can smell it Samara."

She reddened, "Oh."

"So if you wouldn't mind, it would be nice if you referred to me as something else, compagnon, petit ami, take your pick. You don't have to admit to anything you don't feel, but at least…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know how you feel about me and I can accept that it's just…"

"How do you know I don't love you?"

"You've yet to say it."

"I sure as heck-fire _have_ said it."

"No you haven't."

"Yes I ha…look, didn't you get what I said at the end of my note to you, or what I traced on your leg last Tuesday?" Her face was really red now, and she had long ago adverted her eyes. He felt a stir of passion beginning in his bones, knowing where else she would be blushing. He told it to be quiet.

"I drew a heart."

"Ah." But he didn't understand, and that was clear from his tone.

"It means you have my heart. It is how humans tell someone that they love them."

It was silent for a long time, and Samara finally spoke again, "Say something."

He rose to his feet, and walked towards her, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips, "I love you too," he told her just before he kissed her. She pushed herself against him, already breathing hard into his mouth, as he kissed her again, and again, and again. His blood ignited from his feet to his ears, and he suddenly didn't care what Jean thought.

Samara loved him.

Sometime later as they lay together, a mess of limbs, he finally returned to himself, "You were laughing with him."

She rolled her eyes good naturedly at him, "Who? Jean? Yes, we were laughing about something our professor said."

"Oh. But you laugh with me too."

She could tell this meant a lot to him, "I laugh with my _friends_ Kershean."

"You have other friends that are males too?"

"Some, I don't have much time for friends."

"And it's alright to have male friends?"

"Well, yes. What about you and Sirex?"

He grinned at the obvious jealousy in Samara's tone. "We are not friends, we are kin."

"You are family?"

"We are both warriors, our fathers are related back before the modern world was."

"So she is like a sister to you." She pursed her lips.

"Yes, I suppose, I never thought about it. You were always meant for me."

It took a lot of willpower, but Samara bit back the retort at such male egotism. She knew Kershean was trying. "Well Jean and I are kind of like that. He's a nice person, but I have very specific guidelines."

He pulled her onto his chest, and she rested her arms right below his chin, "For example?"

"Well, he can't be a person first of all, because I'm not really a person," she squawked as he tickled her sides at such pertness.

"And?"

She playfully glared at him, until he took his hands away from her sides, "That's better."

Let's see what else," she tapped his chin with one finger thoughtfully, "He's got to be passionate and kind. Oh, and he's got to be outdoorsy too. Jean got lost coming over here. I don't think he could find his way outside of a paper bag."

Kershean threw back his head and laughed, both in humor and relief. The action caused Samara's body to jostle a bit on top of him, and their conversation was instantly forgotten.

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Until the next evening when Kershean was returning from the market. He nearly dropped all his bags onto the curb when he saw Samara laughing at something the human male Jean, was saying through the window of a corner café. The lighting from the chandelier glittered off of her very white teeth and made her merry black eyes all that more alluring. Why was she continually laughing at other males who _weren't_ him?

He nearly stalked through the door, and pulled her away from the table.

That was what his father or Pithe would have done. Even Franken, who was different from most Neanderthal males wouldn't allow Artha much contact with the opposite sex. No one would ever be given the opportunity to take her away. Any of the other males would have accused Samara as flirting, laughing like that! Flirting meant that she preferred someone else's company to his.

These were dangerous thoughts.

So Kershean walked away, repeating to himself Samara's words from the previous evening. No one else would hear her say they had her heart, or hear her whispered words of love right before she fell asleep.

He began preparing fried chicken for her, carefully separating the pieces, and cleaning off the fat. He tried not to pay attention to the clock, to see how much time had passed since he had seen Samara in the café. Would she have left by now? He tried to tell himself that he was wondering for purely logistical reasons. The chicken would be done soon. He reminded himself of the last time he had made it. The first evening he and Samara had been one. A sense of contentment washed over him. Samara would never compromise their love.

But as the hour hastened onward, and the front door remained closed, he began to doubt. He hated himself for doing it, for thinking so badly of her. But the chicken was cooling, it wasn't as good reheated. He rarely cooked!

And Samara was missing still. Why wasn't she home yet? No doubt Jean had talked her into staying later, hoping that she would forgo seeing Kershean to spend time with the Frenchman. Why hadn't she believed that Jean was attracted to her? He had told her-begged her even, to understand. He was so sure she would listen. Unless…but it was too horrible to contemplate, yet that one thought, what if she wanted it.

For most of her life, Samara had been raised as a human. She was obviously more comfortable among them. Perhaps she would shun Kershean to the side if she got a better offer.

He had just placed the chicken into a container to put in the fridge when the front door suddenly opened. "Kershean?" She never called for him anymore, he was always at the door to greet her.

He closed the fridge door a little roughly, more so than he had intended. When he spun away from it, she was standing in the entryway, "Hello." It was decidedly cold, but he couldn't seem to help that.

She blinked a few times, clearly confused, "Are you hungry? I can cook something."

"I already cooked," he growled out.

"Kershean? What's the matter?"

"I saw you with _him_ again." He whirled back to the sink. That had sounded overtly jealous, even to his ears.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Jean, I saw you with him again," He tried to moderate his voice, really he did, but it wasn't cooperating.

"Kershean," it was a long sigh, "We have a group assignment."

"You were laughing together again."

She strutted towards him and grabbed him by the elbows, forcing him to turn towards her. "Kershean look at me!" she commanded when he didn't.

Finally, he looked up, "Jean and I are friends, _just_ friends."

"But he wants more."

"So? It's not like I'm going to take him up on his offer."

He jerked away from her grasp, and folded his arms across his chest and glared. He knew he was being childish but he couldn't seem to help it.

"Fine! Don't believe me." With a loud crack, Samara ripped open the fridge, grabbed the fried chicken, "thought I smelt something," and left the kitchen. "Thanks for cooking." Suddenly she whirled around, "Oh and by the way, he offered and I said no. Told him all about my loving boyfriend who I adored. Now I'm thinking that maybe I got it wrong." And with that she left, and Kershean sagged against the counter.

He sat righteously indignant and brazenly angry for quite some time, reveling in the knowledge that he had been right, and she had acknowledged it, and then falling into depression as he realized that in his rightness, he was still completely alone in the kitchen where the shadows were lengthening as midnight approached. Why could he never seem to do right by her?

His thoughts circled around, coming back to the knowledge that she came to him willingly and lovingly nearly every night. Why wasn't that enough for him? Why did he insist on living in this melancholy? He was miserable, and now she was miserable!

In the dark, his ear sharpened, he heard tentative footsteps approach. It was Samara with her now empty container of chicken. Her eyes avoided him, even when she jostled past him to get to the sink. Her fingers gripped the soap, swirling it into the Tupperware. Next she picked up the dishrag, scrubbing at imaginary fried chicken stains.

She dried off the Tupperware, carefully, methodically wiping every water droplet. She stacked it back into its cupboard and folded towel carefully.

Then unfolded it, "Kershean?" Her eyes darted up to his face for a moment as she faced him, but seeing his stare they darted away just as quickly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

She started to flee, before her hands clenched into fists, and she squeezed her eyes shut, "I mean about Jean. He told me he wanted to meet to discuss the project, but we hardly talked about it. Whenever I brought it up, he changed the subject. Suddenly, he was holding my hand, telling me how he felt about me."

Kershean's nostrils flared but still he said nothing.

"I told him about you," a small smile crossed her face, "About how wonderful you were." Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes, "He didn't believe me, he tried to…not anything bad, he just tried to embrace me, tell me I could do better."

"I'll kill him."

"Kershean!" Samara gripped his arm tightly, wedging herself between him and the entrance to the kitchen, "I took care of it. I won't have to see him again. We'll do our portions of the project and then I will compile it and that will be it."

"More work for you,"

"Yes," was spoken hesitantly, "But it's okay. I'll gladly do it to be away from him." Kershean felt his ire melt just a little at the relief in her voice.

"Just give me ten minutes with him."

"Kershean!" She wrapped her arms around him, holding him there, "Staying with me will be just as disappointing to him. So stay."

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Kershean stayed, but he still didn't like it. Over the next few days, he rarely let Samara out of his sight, walking her to class, walking her home, going on all of her errands, even following her to the restrooms on campus to make sure she was unaccosted by the wily Frenchman.

Samara bore it all surprisingly until he nearly followed her into a restroom stall after hearing potential male voices inside, (He would later discover that some women have low voices), she finally lashed out at him, "Why don't you just pee on me and call it a day!"

His eyes widened, never had he heard such language from her, "What?"

"Everyone knows I'm yours, alright? But if it would make you feel better…"

"I…"

"I'm not a china doll, that can crack or break. I'll be okay. Now go find some coffee or something," she shooed him away, and disappeared inside, shutting the door firmly in his face.

Perplexed, and feeling a bit stupid, Kershean crossed the quad towards the small metal, but immensely popular coffee stand. It was always busy in between classes, and Kershean's back straightened as he saw the wily Frenchman's head of auburn streaked hair. He popped his knuckles in anticipation. Jean was directly in front of him.

He had just reached out to touch Jean's shoulder, to draw the human away to have a little _talk_, when that same hand was grabbed by a set of familiar female fingers, and tugged around a curvaceous waist.

"Hey Jean," she called carelessly. Jean turned quickly, but Samara had already looked away and deep into Kershean's eyes, "Hey you." She purred. Her fingers were already in his hair as she drew him to her, stopping within inches, her breath tickling his lips, "I love you," she spoke the words quietly, but Kershean was sure that the surrounding area was singed by the depth of the conveyed emotion. She kissed him long and hard, dipping his head, tasting and exploring. "I missed you." Samara cuddled her body into Kershean's as they moved as one, up to order their coffees.

Jean was nowhere to be seen.

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**And that's it for Chapter 16! I look forward to hearing from you!**


	18. Chapter 17

**Okay, five more chapters left, phew! I want to get this done before the New Year. I'm going to need lots of reviews though to cheer me on (Cars run on gas, I run on encouragement)!**

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**Chapter 17**

"Ugh!" Samara exclaimed as she dropped her bag onto the seat beside her, "It is so hot today."

Several students, wearing long sleeves and light jackets turned to gape at her, "It must be 10 or 11 degrees Celsius out there (about 50 degrees Fahrenheit)."

She plopped into her chair beside Kershean, and began fanning herself with a hand. 'I shouldn't have worn such a heavy sweater." She pulled it over her head. Her arms were red and prickled with sweat. "Can't believe they still have the heaters on," she muttered to herself.

She turned to Kershean, leaning towards him to place a light kiss on his lips, "Any idea what the topic is today?"

"Global warming," answered Kershean.

"Ah."

"You know what that is?" Kershean certainly didn't.

"Of course, the sun has more explosions so the earth warms, the polar ice caps melt, Yadda, yadda, yadda."

"The polar ice caps are melting?"

"Yup!" she said, "It would certainly explain why it's so hot today." She picked up a thin notebook and began fanning herself again, "Aren't you hot?"

"Well, yes," he spoke quietly, "But it's not something we should probably talk about around the uh…" he motioned to the rest of the room. "You know, EVERYONE else."

"Oh! Right." She looked suspiciously around, "They probably think I'm nuts, huh?"

Le Prof entered the room immediately after Samara's question, dressed in shorts and a tropical button-up shirt. Such excellent timing, Kershean decided. Everyone forgot instantly about the weird _warm_ girl at the aisle seat. "Global Warming, Mademoiselles et Monsieurs! Ah, I see one of my students has dressed up as well," Le Prof smiled while gesturing towards Samara. Samara wished she could melt into the carpet, "I happen to have a…" Le prof proceeded to dig around in his messenger bag, "ah…yes! Here it is. A milka chocolate bar. For you Mademoiselle, for not making me feel so silly about my raiment." He tossed the chocolate up to her and she caught it as the rest of the class grumbled.

"Maybe being warm isn't such a bad thing," she murmured to Kershean as she tore of the wrapper of the chocolate bar.

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Later that day as Samara lounged on the sofa-cubes of ice melting onto her back-she decided that being warm was a very bad thing after all. "What is this some kind of heat wave?"

"Well if Professor Garot is right, Perhaps the polar ice caps are melting."

'That doesn't really help me at the moment though, Kershean." She groused.

Kershean picked up one of the ice cubes and watched as it melted into a puddle in his hand. "We have lower body temperatures. We were designed to live through the ice ages. Not heat waves."

"Good grief," said Samara who had watched the ice cube melt as well, "That was really fast! If I sat on a frozen sheet of ice would I melt a hole right through it?"

"Probably." Kershean touched her ruddy cheeks, "I believe you could even melt the polar ice caps if you sat on them long enough," he jested.

"You just…Kershean!"

Kershean's eyes widened to magnificent proportions, "What?"

"We could melt the Polar Ice caps, flood the entire earth."

"But that would…that would…"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Hardly anyone would be left." Both of her hands flew to her mouth, "Eek! That's terrible. I can't believe I thought of that! What would the council say?"

Kershean shook his head vehemently, "The council doesn't have to know."

"We have to go to them." She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.

"No, we don't."

"Kershean, think about it. Eventually, they will insist on being told _something_ viable."

"You would eliminate the humans."

"Of course not! That's not what I meant!"

Kershean was highly tempted to tell her how obtuse she sounded, "Then why do you feel the need to tell them anything?"

"I think it is time to confront them." She pulled at her hair, "They won't give this up. We have to force them."

"So you won't tell them," his eyebrows knitted. "You want to force them to give up. That could cause a war."

"So be it. I think we could get sufficient numbers for our side."

"I can't believe you are being so callous about this."

She shrugged her shoulders, "I've thought about this a long time, that's all."

"But to fight?"

But Samara was not listening, she was already anticipating the victory, "Kershean, if we could get my mother to come back…your mother as well…think about how much influence they could have!" Her hands gripped his shoulders.

"But women. Well…they are not…valued," Kershean spoke carefully.

"So we will make them value us!"

Kershean knew from his own experience that his acceptance of Samara's considerable strengths had come the moment he'd realized how he felt about her. It had occurred simultaneously, he loved her, so he valued her. But not many of the Neanderthals had ever experienced such strong emotions. How was Samara planning to change that? "They probably won't agree to talk to you."

"They will once I tell them that I have a plan. THE plan"

"They will ask me to tell them."

She frowned at him, "So don't say anything!"

"That would be an omission."

"What? Oh…yes, but…just a little falsehood. This is important!"

Kershean shook his head, "It won't work Samara. They will never allow you among them. Another female, like the Old Woman who has been proved for her usefulness, perhaps. You are young."

"So are you!"

"But I am a male."

"Argh! I hate this. And I'm beginning to hate you just a little bit!" Kershean blinked at her, but Samara did not see, "If you would just agree to defer to me when we get back, they would _have _to let me speak. Why are you being so stubborn about this!"

"Stubborn?"

"It's just a little thing." She threw her hands up in the air, "You don't have to say a word about what you know. All you have to do is keep your mouth shut. But no! You insist on speaking up! That'sbeing stubborn!"

"I don't like falsehoods Samara," he ground out

She rounded on him, her eyes blazing, "And you think I do? I thought you would have known me better than that!"

Kershean suddenly realized that perhaps he had backed himself into a bit of a corner, "No! That's not what I think at all. It's just…I don't believe…"

Samara's face scrunched up and she nodded once sharply, then stomped away, "Fine! Let the humans die. See if I care!" Her bedroom door slammed behind her, and Kershean heard her engage the lock.

Like an old man, he collapsed onto the sofa. It wasn't like he wanted the humans to die. Hadn't he said that at some point during their, uh…discussion? But there was so much that Samara had thrown at him, so much she had asked, nay, demanded. He was having a hard time keeping up, remembering all of it.

For so long, he had been researching extermination, just as the council had asked him, because he could do nothing less. He had always been the good son. Always done what he had been told. _He could do nothing less than that._ Now that he, and Samara-he couldn't forget that this was her idea—had a solution, he was reticent to do anything about it. Perhaps it was because he had never expected to find one. He had researched. He had done his part. He had found nothing. And now after _one_ measly class seminar, all of his fears, and all of the council's dreams would be realized. He digested that for a moment. Thinking about what life would become. What horrors he would see, be forced to enact. He shuddered. And Samara wanted to tell them? Or not tell them; but somehow incite a riot? Against their people? He was a loyal son, a good son, and she wanted him to lie to them.

Suddenly Samara's voice called loud and sneering from her room, "And what if _you_ had found a solution, eh Kershean? You would have run to them, _eh Kershean_, told them _everything_?" she fairly spat.

No! He thought she knew that. He blinked. She _did_ know that. He had denied it! What was she trying to do? He wouldn't have gone to them. He would have, if necessary, run far away, hidden them, just so he wouldn't have to say anything…Ah! That was it. Now he understood.

It was the same! She was asking him to confront them, and _not_ say anything. Just like his plan, to run away and _not_ say anything. An omission, but instead to their faces. He could keep his mouth shut. He could do that for her.

There was something that still nipped at his conscience, upsetting him. If that didn't bother him, what else could it be? Letting Samara in to speak to them? No, she would be wonderful, if they allowed it. What would she say, he pondered. She must have something planned. From her own words, he knew that she had thought about this long before their "discussion." Their fight. He cringed at the word, but that was what it had been. Samara was in her room, he was alone in the salon. To their separate corners they had gone. He knew he was frustrated about that, it suddenly occurred to him to consider what she might be feeling. She had told him of her idea, he had nearly scoffed at it. It was a good idea. So what bothered him? Deep down, he realized what it was. He hadn't wanted to think of it.

A war.

Not a war of words. It would be dangerous instead. There would be casualties. Especially if his mother and Samara's were allowed back. They would grasp at it, cling to it, reveling in their bitterness. It would destroy the tribe. Samara had spoken so casually about it. She didn't understand.

He found himself, quite by accident at her door, "Samara?" He knocked softly, "I don't want to fight anymore. Please let me in."

Complete silence. He leaned his forehead against her door. If she wouldn't let him see her, perhaps she would at least listen. "Extermination _is_ wrong. But what if they don't agree. They _won't,_ Samara. There would be war. Not of words. Weapons…fists. Would you fight your father?" He heard a snort; Pithe and Samara had never gotten along. Her father would probably fight against his daughter, and quite gleefully too. He changed tactics, "What of Artha instead? What if she chose the other side? Would you fight her? To the death?"

Silence reigned, and then he heard the click of the lock, and the door slowly opened. Samara stood before him, tears in her eyes, "Do you really think Artha would side against us?"

"No, not Artha. Never Artha." He shook his head, "But others will. Tisha, one of the cooks, probably would. Her husband was killed before the change. The old woman: Would you fight her? Kill her? She can offer no resistance except for her words. But she would never back down, not until she was silenced."

Samara's eyes went wide, "Do you think it will really come to that?"

"Most assuredly," he winced, "We could run. I know how they track, so we could hide from them quite effectively."

"But forever Kershean?"

He scratched at his forehead, she was right, "Well, no, perhaps not forever. But Samara, our side might not be the victors. Many will die."

"But if we won?" Her face was hopeful.

"Those that opposed? Their lives will end and be restarted. They will not forget as they grow and once they are matured, it will happen again."

"Oh. But…"

"Revenge has been their only angle Samara. Truly, it is all they have lived for."

"It isn't right!"

"I know. Their plans will probably not be overruled though. Can you accept that?"

"It would be awful to fight."

"Can you accept it as the only alternative, though?"

They stared at each other, Samara said nothing but her eyes answered, pleading, begging him to understand her choice. He sighed, "I will go with you, I will refuse to speak, and I will fight to protect you, and all others who side with us. But you must see that this will end in misery."

She nodded slowly, "If there is another way…"

"We must believe that there is, or else we must exterminate our own people."

Samara choked and ran to him her arms outstretched, her tears flowing. He held her tightly, knowing that there would be no turning back once their course was set. Deep within himself, he found himself pleading, _Let there be another way._

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**I've been holding this part of the story back for a long time. Seriously guys, I need to know how you feel about it! **


	19. Chapter 18

**Once again, thank you all for your responses! They brighten my life. Truly ;)**

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**Chapter 18**

Pithe enjoyed an early morning bath. When the water molecules were just cold enough to line up in an orderly fashion. Order suited Pithe's life outlook.

Humans were not orderly, and they tended to do the exact opposite of what Pithe expected. Which meant that they were not predicable. Pithe did not like that.

They did not share, they hoarded. The more advanced they became, the more they hoarded. Pithe knew this, because he had seen it. And Pithe did not like _that_ either.

He had met Adolph Hitler once. That crazed Belgian. At the time, Pithe and his tribe of dreamers had been living in the Arnsberg Forest-before it had been declared a national park and overrun with tourists. During the human World War II when Germany had turned into themselves, they had not been interested in nature preserving, and the area had remained remote.

Back then, Pithe still attended to foraging. He was passing through Olsberg to take fruits from the local farms when a mass of humans had stopped at the center of the village, talking loud and fast. He had melded in among them, just as automobiles had begun driving by.

A single black shiny sedan stopped, and the rear window opened. A dark head with pale skin emerged: The Für, to greet his subjects. When suddenly, the crowds parted slightly, Pithe had been exposed. Hitler had stared at him long and hard probably trying to decide where such a creature fit into his new world order. Pithe had ducked away then, not daring to look back.

Later he was horrified to discover the destruction such a _little _man would produce. And against his own kind too! Because like the rest, Hitler was a hoarder: Hoarder of goods: Hoarder of power: Hoarder. Like ALL the rest.

Pithe dipped his head into the basin, holding his breath, his heart slowing and nearly stopping. He pulled up his head at the last moment, as his lungs rebelled. He would not end this life. Not like the old woman had. He would not be weak. And because of his willpower he would see the end of the human world.

Shaking his hair out, Pithe reached for a towel and dried off his face. He sniffed the air appreciatively. Roasted pork, taken from the closest village. Another of Pithe's favorites. And if he got there early enough he would have his pick of the hind quarters. And Tisha, who he was sure was sweet on him, always set aside some extra sauce for him. Just the right consistency, and the sharp taste of pepper. He was already salivating.

He pulled on his thick fur pullover, smoothed and tanned to perfection. His fingertips felt each individual hair of the pelt. The animal who had given his life, a large panther and their battle had been the meeting between two masters. Finally the panther had succumbed, leaving his tawny but wasted body behind. With reverence and all _proper_ pride, Pithe had set about taking the pelt. It had turned out superb after he, and he alone, had rubbed the preserving salts in religiously, not trusting anyone else to do the job properly.

And now he wore it with all the pride and selfishness that he deserved. Lanta had asked him to wrap Samara in it as a sign of his approval of her birth. But he had resisted, and eventually she had stopped asking. No one but him would wear such a superior garment. Not even his daughter. Though destined for the next chief, she was still _only_ a girl.

He sat at his usual place, his pillow of honor in the dining hall. It was near the kitchens where Tisha would see he had arrived so that she could serve him. Pithe missed the fleeting look of disgust that crossed Tisha's face as she gathered his favorites together. Pithe didn't have time to look on any other to worship, only time to be worshipped.

He ate his meal with gusto, not a word to Tisha which enraged her furthr. Even her mate-who was not the best of men-had seen fit to thank her for her service occasionally. Pithe was a nothing, a mediocre breeding stallion, for his more superior daughter. Most of the rest of the tribe seemed to understand that. Save the man himself.

That thought caused Tisha to smile to herself, and Pithe to misconstrue. Perhaps she was worthy of his attentions!

Whisperings moved across the camp as Pithe exited the dining hall. The rest of the tribe was up early this morning, their anticipation levels high. Something was happening, but Pithe could not quite make out what.

"…turning to camp…"

"Hem saw….any moment…"

"…together and unified…"

The camp was at the top of the glacier now, forcing all those who returned to ascend towards it. Pithe preferred to think that everyone had to look up to it in a sign of reverence. In truth, the camp was higher now because the glacier was not as stable as it had been earlier in the season.

Two figures rounded the bend, both bundled up against the cold which rendered them unrecognizable to Pithe. He wondered at them wearing such warm gear but then they would have had to pass through some human villages, he supposed.

Artha stood just ahead of all the others, wringing her hands together. What was she so worried about? How could this return possibly concern her? And frankly, as the head of _her_ part of the tribe, why didn't Pithe know a thing about it? Who were those two personages?

"Samara!" called Artha suddenly and excitedly as she hurried towards the two figures.

Samara? Why had Pithe not been told that his daughter was returning? And yet as he looked around at the faces of all the others, it seemed he alone had been ignorant. He rearranged his face to display his blandest of smiles and went to approach his daughter. "Samara, you have finally arrived!" Pithe refused to acknowledge the frown on his daughter's face as she greeted him, not knowing that she had specifically requested that none of the elders, including her father, be informed of their impending arrival.

"Hello Father," her voice shook slightly and Pithe misunderstood her agitation as insecurity at having to greet him in all his magnificence, he was wearing his special furs today after all!

"You have returned with a plan?"

One curt nod was all Pithe received, and once again, he misunderstood, "How have you been Father?" Samara managed to choke out.

Pithe frowned. Samara had never asked about him personally before. It took him several moments before he had a suitable answer, "Things have been the same as ever, though as I'm sure Kershean related to you, we are anxious for a plan."

He looked towards Kershean then, who hadn't managed to look anyone in the eye yet. "Kershean?" Finally the boy looked up, "Is it true what Samara has said?"

Samara gritted her teeth, and Kershean took her hand comfortingly with his own before he answered, "It is true. Samara was actually the one who discovered a solution."

Pithe raised an eyebrow, "A woman? _She _holds the key? Impossible."

Samara's hand tightened uncontrollably around Kershean's and he held back a wince, "Very possible," he answered calmly. Switching to the language of the Exium Solus so Samara would not be further offended, he continued, "Samara discovered it on her own during her own research."

"Samara's only occupation should be in bearing a child." He looked pointedly at Samara's flat stomach, "I can see _that_ is not progressing."

Kershean bared his teeth, "She is _my _ mate and now _my _concern!"

Pithe's eyes narrowed first on his daughter, then on Kershean. They met his eyes, challenging, "So be it. Will _you _be willing to share this plan of Samara's with the council?"

"Samara has requested to share it herself."

"Impossible!" Pithe ejaculated. "She is a female."

"And yet, this female will speak," Samara suddenly said.

Both men looked at her in disbelief: When had she learned the language of the Exium Solus so fluently? "But daughter, you…"

"Yes, I am aware I am a woman, father. Nevertheless, it is my plan, and I will speak. I have not told Kershean the particulars. Nor am I likely to do so. You will look to me for your revenge."

She had not only mastered the language, but also the subtle nuances of it, effectively silencing her father, "So be it," was all he could answer her.

Pithe spent the rest of his day, not as he would have liked. Usually there were hours of self-promotion and casual feasting. Instead, he watched his daughter very carefully, wondering at this sudden plan of hers. She was calmly moving among the others as she had always done, greeting the females, and making the correct deferences to the males. She had grown exponentially in her time away, learning arts and allurements that he hadn't expected. He wasn't so sure that he didn't like it.

Now he sat in the cafeteria, watching as Samara led a rather loud and raucous conversation in the corner with Kershean, Artha, Franken and Hem eagerly participating. He perked his ears up trying to hear the gist of it. Perhaps she would slip in some of her plans and then her unwelcome presence would not have to be explained at the council meeting. Pithe was sure it would reflect badly on him. But all he could overhear were crude human stories, of something called Les Profs and a human female named Maria. Pithe frowned. Why was she bothering talking of such useless things when there were more important things to speak of?

Samara had hardly touched her plate, and Pithe worried that she had grown a little too thin from her time among the humans. How was she to birth a child, (hopefully 2!) if she didn't have more meat on her bones? His own Lanta had never gathered enough fat to have more than Samara and Pithe had always resented her for it. If only they could have had a son! Perhaps his own child could be the tribal leader instead of only the _mate_ of one.

Pithe fidgeted, poking at his potatoes and cutting them into small pieces, then piling them together. Tisha hadn't prepared them well today. The spices were much too light! Perhaps he would have a word with her. No. He would not demean himself. He would speak to Elverna, the head of the kitchens. Or better yet, her mate-the one in charge of her disciplining.

He left the kitchens immediately, seeking out Jab, Elverna's mate. His job as a ractashist often took him off the mountain, almost as much as the foragers. Pithe hoped he was around. And if he was, so much the better! Such a conversation would surely distract him adequately enough from puzzling about his daughter.

Jab was pulling his cotton off of his twiners, outside of his teepee, forking it into long strands when Pithe came upon him, "Pithe!" Jab came forth¸ bowing deferentially, "I have not encountered you in some time."

"I wish this was a social call then Jab."

Jab motioned Pithe to a rock and sat opposite him, his hands fisted on his knees, "I am prepared to hear you speak," he replied formally.

"I would talk of Tisha. Her food was wanting this afternoon."

Jab expression did not change, no matter what his personal opinion was of such a complaint, "You would have me act as her mate because Elverna is her superior," he deciphered.

Pithe frowned at that, not sure he wished to think of anyone else as Tisha's mate, even if the man in question was ineligible. "As Elverna's mate I come to _you _since _she_ is responsible for Tisha's preparations."

Jab nodded, and his fists tightened in anger, though Pithe fortunately did not see, "I will speak to Elverna then."

"So be it." Pithe slapped his thighs, the sign that he was happy with the outcome of their talk and rose to his feet, "Another time," and Pithe rose to leave. Now if only dealing with his daughter's tenacity was so simple.

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**Do you hate him? You should…He's kind of a mix of Idiocy and Egocentricity, or, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine to be more precise.**


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"So if I stand closer than 2 metres to Adar when I present my argument, the council will immediately be on their guard," I scratched at my face, "Why?"

"A predator is that close when they are ensured of a kill."

I blinked at him, "But I would not attack them."

Kershean sighed, "In a way Samara you are doing just that. You are going to tell them that their plan is wrong, has been all along. That to them will be an attack."

"But…" I tried to argue.

"No, Samara!" Kershean grabbed my hand pulling me close, "We discussed this all the way back to camp. I am here now to teach you how to talk to them. I am on your side, you do not need to argue your point further with me. Let's continue, alright?"

I fiddled with his fingers, "I'm sorry Kershean."

"You are nervous. This has never been done before."

"Even with all this planning, will it work?"

Kershean pursed his lips, pondering, "Difficult to know. It will definitely fail if you don't take the proper precautions though."

I nodded, "Okay. So standing 2 metres way with my palms at my sides, I will begin to speak…"

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Down the mountain, there is a stand of trees with a circlet of rocks beneath their shade. The rocks have been worn down, smoothed and flattened by snow and ice. Adar, on seeing it for the first time, decided that it would serve as the perfect new place for the tribal leaders to meet.

Early, the morning of the meeting, as Kershean snoozed beside me; I rose and put a small knapsack of necessities together. If the council would not listen, if there were no other supporters for my plan, then I would run. And things could go back to normal, as if I had never been there. I had learned much in my time among my people. I _could_ survive on my own. And Kershean's safety meant more to me than anything. Even being together. I hid the bag under a sage bush and went about making my other preparations.

As the council members gathered, I watched them from my rock. One look at Kershean's red face told me that he had just learned about the part of the plan that I had hidden. Though it was painful, I ignored him: If I failed, any ire between us could only serve to protect him.

When Adar finally seated himself on the rock slightly higher than all the rest, I rose to my feet and approached, stopping exactly 2 metres from him. My palms at my side, I began to speak, "Brothers of Earth, I stand before you, mate of Kershean. Millennia ago, we were an oppressed people, afraid of our own shadows and hunted by the predator Man. Now we are strong. They are weak." I paused, the air was thick with anticipation. The moment, _my_ moment had come.

"They are not as they once were," I said strongly. Adar made to object, but I spoke over him, my voice ringing through the trees, "I have read the texts of human history. Of the exterminations, of the wars, if we were to do something similar what would set us apart from them? How would we be any different?"

"Daughter!" My father was suddenly at my side and hissing into my ear, "You will stop speaking now! You will not anger the council."

"No father." I shook my head at him, "I have been given the right to speak, for I alone hold the plan. I do not have to cede the floor. _You_ are out of order father. _You_ must sit. Isn't that right Master Adar?" Adar looked puce, but he dared not dispute my words, he knew the laws, he had made them.

My father slunk back to his seat as I started to speak again, "Alone for many years, I lived my life among the humans, freely and safely. I looked like them, I talked like them. They had no reason to believe that I wasn't one of them." My father cleared his throat meaning to object, but I was ready for him, "Living together is what sets us apart. This is what makes the humans curious. And being curious, they will seek us out. The modern world has many resources. The humans can find a group as large as ours if they really wanted to."

Adar raised one finger, meaning that I still had the floor but he was allowed to make a short comment, "It makes them dangerous."

"If we dispersed among the humans and lived like them, they would never question it. We would be safe. Would DeWittier have ever come for me if there was not a group such as yourselves to find?"

Adar looked at me for a long moment, "No," he finally said resignedly. A ripple went through the council, "But this type of speech I feel has gone on long enough."

Meaning, he was ready for the plan. My time was running out. "Man does not live in the high mountains like us. In the cold." Adar only raised an eyebrow. The right one, which indicated his interest. "In many things we are their superior. But we are also lacking and inferior in other ways." My father leapt to his feet again, and I heard a low growl from behind me. Exactly where Kershean was sitting. My father sank back into his seat, "I would not that you believe me alone, when you decide the judgment of the humans. Listen to others."

The sound of footsteps crunched in the snow and my mother immerged-just as I had instructed- from between the trees. She ignored the sharp intakes of breath and the heavy scowl on my father's brow as she took her place in front of the council, "Daughter of the great Othar requests to speak." Othar was the second greatest warrior that the Neanderthal had ever fathered. As the mate of Pithe¸ my mother should have acknowledged him instead of her father, but she had chosen to intimidate them with her lineage. It worked; the council was shocked but quiet, "I am here to confirm my daughter's words. The humans are no longer a danger to us. Particularly if we chose to live in small groups among them. I have lived among them, communicated with them, bartered with them, and not once has my ancestry been examined."

"Lanta!" My father leapt to his feet again.

My mother ignored him, "I have said my piece. I will retire the floor."

I watched my mother walk away, towards the camp, then I turned back to the council, "If we were to do as my mother suggests, we could live among the humans instead of hiding from them. We could enjoy their luxuries, live as well as they do. We could be finally accepted by them. We could live at peace."

Adar raised his finger again, "We want the plan Samara. Not a plea for mercy."

"I have one further witness." When she appeared, Adar reached for the knife I could see in the belt at his side. I instantly moved to stand in front of her, "This is Cammy." Looking over my shoulder I saw Kershean move protectively behind my old schoolmate, and my heart clenched. Though he disagreed about her presence here, he would support me. "She is human and she is my friend."

"Cammy, meet my family." I had told her that I wanted her to meet them. She had been so excited that she hadn't even bothered to question me about how I had found them or anything.

"I am pleased to meet you," she spoke the phrase in the language of the Exium Solus, just as I had taught her.

"She speaks our language!" My father's voice rang out loud and accusing, his voice rough with rage.

I felt Cammy tense behind me, "Father," I spoke soothingly, "Humans are not to be feared unless provoked or startled. Like any other mammal, nay, like ourselves even, they respond badly to such things."

"Samara, mate of Kershean," Master Kennon said, "You should not have brought a human among us. Daemon was executed for less than that."

I goggled for a moment, before regaining my courage, "Cammy has offered me friendship from her heart." I put my hand over my own, "Just like ours that beat for us. We are not so different."

"This is wrong!" My father was tensed, ready to strike.

"Cammy?" I turned to her, "My family is worried that I was mistreated at school…"

Cammy rapidly shook her head, "Of course not! We miss you. All of your friends miss you." I heard Kershean translating behind us, "We were all worried about you."

"So you see?" I addressed the council once more, "They have grown from their wild ways, become a calmer people, more accepting." I took a deep breath, "Our complaint is not with them." Suddenly my father advanced, overcome with rage, a knife in his hand, aimed straight at Cammy, "Father they do not deserve this!" I tried one last time.

My father was no longer listening, his eyes crazed, "Get out of the way, Samara!"

"Kershean!" I screamed. Assessing the scene, he whipped Cammy over his shoulder, away from the knife and went running with her through the trees, before she could see the danger.

"This is fun!" Cammy squealed. "Do you work out?" she queried and then giggled. Cammy was safe with Kershean, but now all of my allies were gone, I was entirely alone.

"I had hoped that you would be willing to be merciful," I looked each of them in the eye, but defiantly they refused to quell their tempers, "I am still a loyal member of this tribe." Adar snarled and I realized that the end, _my_ end was near. I could sense a few of the council members advancing at my back in case I chose to run. My knapsack would remain abandoned. What would become of me?

Suddenly Hem burst into the meeting, offering me reprieve, "Leader Adar, Brothers of Earth, Mistress Shanti has returned!"

Nothing happened for an eternity it seemed, then chaos. Adar rose to his feet fast and fluidly, as my father sneered, "Her presense is forbidden here!"

"Thank you Pithe, but I believe I can control my mate," Adar hissed back at him.

His words were heavy with irony and not lost on my father, "You are insinuating that I cannot control mine?"

"I do not have to insinuate anything, we all saw and heard, what Lanta did here!"

Wisely, I backed away from the council seats, my feet carrying me towards my knapsack. I could still hear the elders arguing. It wouldn't take them long to see that I was missing. I froze suddenly as I realized what would happen if I ran. It wasn't just me that I was risking anymore. I didn't have much time and I was feeling jumpy, imagining at any moment a council member to approach and subdue me. I had not expected them to be this determined in their anger. Kershean, my mother: Neither was safe. I could not give up now! I turned back to the camp, if I could gather allies, and quickly at that, all those I held dear might still have a chance.

My mother was waiting for me at the edge of camp, "Samara, what was their decision?"

"Currently, Adar and Pithe are fighting about their insecurities," I answered dryly.

"Such is the male of, well, just about any species." She joked, "But you didn't answer my question. What was the decision?"

"I don't know. They were unhappy."

"Well we knew that." She pursed her lips and I resisted the urge to shout at her.

"I was on the verge of giving in and telling them my plan when Shanti returned."

"Shanti is back?" A slow smile grew on her face, "Oh that is good. She must have received my message."

"Mom? I don't understand…"

"I issued a challenge, Samara. I am the daughter of a great warrior. I reminded them of that. I sent a message to Shanti, telling her it was time to return. She accepted and in her own way she has issued a challenge as well. Though commanded to stay away, she has done otherwise. This says that she is strong, that she will not bend. She will support you." She nodded her head, "She is from your father's tribe, daughter of the Old Woman." Her eyes narrowed at my owlish look, "You did not know. Why must they always exclude the women," she muttered to herself, "That disgruntles us, when we aren't informed. It would be unfortunate if we all unified in our ire." Her smile was devious.

"But half the camp is female!" I expostulated. If all the females were on my side that could mean, everything!

"More than half actually." My mother said, "Tisha, Loki, and Bet have no mates. And with Daemon gone…There are more of us than of them. Kershean supports us?" It wasn't quite a statement so I nodded, "Perhaps Franken would support Artha, and Hem is young…we might have a chance with him."

"But even with numbers…mother what if they don't back down?" I leaned in close, "It could mean war. Ending the lives of many." It had been the one thing that Kershean and I were reticent to talk of, hoping that the council would give in before it resorted to that. It was a heavy price to pay.

"It is perhaps time that…what do the humans call it…You know, female power?" She looked to me and I nodded, "The Exium Solus female is strong, intelligent. We have been ignored; like dogs, we have been mistreated. For too long, the males of our tribe have lived for their revenge, but who has cared for them, and their children? The females." Her voice was loud now, and she was drawing a crowd, "We have nurtured, loved, things that the Exium Solus council knows little about. Because they are males! That is why, Samara, the females will accept the plan. They know what it is to love their spouses, their offspring. If the males would let love into their hearts they would realize that they cannot do this. They cannot make the innocents suffer for the mistakes of their ancestors."

I heard an "achi," and a cheer from those around me. We were surrounded by the wife of every councilman, Tisha, Elverna, and Artha. Standing beside Tisha was a young female, not much older than me, with Kershean's strong forehead and his same dark eyes.

So this was Shanti, the wife of our chief, returned to overthrow.

Everyone crowded around my mother all asking questions at once. "I will take them by the hand," she spoke to me, "You must find Sirex and Hem. We must have true warriors on your side."

**((88((88))88))**

Sirex was not hard to find. Elverna told me that she was acting as sentinel this morning on the east side of the camp. When I came upon her, Sirex's hands were folded behind her back, her fur cape wafting in the breeze, as her eyes remained unblinking gazing out at the forbidding landscape. I knew she was aware of me though she did not speak until I was directly beside her, "So Shanti has returned."

"It is havoc," I motioned over my shoulder.

"Yes, it would be," she offered sardonically. "Hem told me of it."

"Why are you guarding this side of camp? No one would dare come up this way." It was the truth, the rocks were jagged here, hardly passible.

"Sometimes the council remembers that I am female. They would not want me to be in charge of something difficult."

"They are wrong about many things," I offered to the wind.

"Yes." A long beat of silence passed between us, "I know why you are here. I will support you."

"You know what that would mean?"

She finally turned to me, both eyebrows raised, "I am a warrior Samara. I believe I can say that I know better than most what 'that would mean.'" She sighed, digging her boot into the icy snow. "You will find Hem in the kitchens. He will support you too." I blinked at her, she spoke again, "There are many things the council is not aware of." Her hand suddenly went to her belly protectively. Sirex and Hem? Why hadn't I seen it before?

"Thank you, Sirex."

She inclined her head, but did not speak again, her eyes once more focused on watching the rocks and crevasses of the eastern slope.

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	21. Chapter 20

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**Chapter 20**

It was warm in the teepee: Kershean could tell by the steam wafting from between the poles. He pulled the sides of his rough cotton blanket tighter around him. Never had he been so cold. It wasn't the chill in the air around him, or the ice that was beginning to fall from the heavens. No, the cause of his frosty limbs centered on that teepee. For in that teepee, was his Samara. _She_ would be warm. As well as every other Exium Solus female, cuddled inside that teepee together, selfishly avoiding their mates.

It wasn't that Kershean was angry. Not exactly. It hadn't been Samara's idea. She had not been acting the part of a disappointed mate when she came to Kershean with her head down, hands wringing. She was as disgruntled by the idea as he was. There had been a certain angry glimmer in her eye as she'd told him that all of the females were isolating themselves from the males. Kershean knew he was acting out of character, being so jealous and concerned about this, but By the Demon! He was cold!

And he wasn't the only one. There were a few other males here now-okay, _most_ of the males- stalking about, stamping their feet, their eyes constricted as they watched the teepee. Only three that Kershean could see were absent: Hem was on sentinel duty and Adar and Pithe were probably sleeping. Those two had been without warm company for so many years, they likely hadn't noticed the new female directive yet. Master Kennon and Jab were not so lucky. Kershean could see Jab's left eye twitching with barely concealed malevolence.

Franken was here too. Like Kershean, he had received a cryptic explanation from Artha. Regardless, now he sat opposite Kershean, head on his open palms, his eyes unblinking, watching the teepee.

Suddenly, he stood, walking resolutely towards it, ripped back the fur and descended inside. There was a scuttle of resentful female voices, but Franken's overrode them all, "Artha, I'm with you-you know this! I have said as much. Why must we be apart?"

Kershean listened as Franken pled with his mate, wondering what Artha would say. Samara might have been upset at the situation, but she was unwilling to disavow the need for the segregation. Kershean wondered if Artha would be the same. He could see the ears of every Exium Solus male perked as they awaited her words. The situation encompassed everyone, collectively making them miserable. Except Pithe and Adar of course, still snoring in their respective teepees.

"Franken, it is for everyone else, not just us. The females have united together and so we shall remain, protecting our beliefs, and our sister Samara."

Kershean knew that Samara's meeting with the council hadn't gone well the moment he had been forced to spirit Cammy away from the danger and back to the human village. The council had done what he had expected of them, and the whole journey back to camp he had been worried about what he would find. Thankfully, Samara had been protected, but he like most of the males weren't sure they appreciated the cost of that protection.

Franken spoke dubiously, "Kershean can protect his own mate!"

Kershean imagined Artha shaking her head sadly, "Not from the council. Would you have him punished as well? Killed for defending her? We females will protect her and we will do it because of our numbers."

There was silence, a very long silence and then finally Franken emerged, his head down, his body bundled inside his fur wrap. He made to move away, before he turned to face the males, who had witnessed the entirety, "Is this what you want? To be separate for eternity?" He shook his head, "Not me. I want my mate back." His eyes found Master Kennon's-the highest ranking council member besides Pithe and Adar, "How long can you go without the softness of a female?" He stared Master Kennon down until surprisingly, Master Kennon looked away. Franken's face remained blistering as he stormed through the snow to his own desolate teepee.

That was Night One.

The next evening after spending two unproductive days trying to drag their mates away from each other, there were more males willing to try and evoke providence.

"Elverna! You will come home now!" bellowed Jab.

Samara and all the others watched as Elverna dismissively looked over her spouse, "I am where I need to be, Jab."

"But…but…" Jab scratched at his rotund middle, "I'm hungry. And on pork night, you always bring me the extras."

'You came all this way to ask about the leftovers from dinner?" Elverna squawked.

"Well I…" Jab's cheeks ballooned out, "No, I…I just…I miss you…" he finally admitted lamely.

Elverna's eyes were dangerous slits, "I think it is time for you to leave, Jab."

Outweighing Jab by at least 25 kilos Elverna stared him down, her biceps flexing. Twenty-five kilos of pure muscle, and Jab knew it! With a sigh, he opened the teepee flap, shivered at the sudden cold and moved away, eyes on his feet, not bothering to look up at the other males, their mouths wide and gaping.

Not long after, Hem entered the teepee, "Sirex? It is…uh…it is time for you to take over the south sentinel post."

Kershean, just outside, wondered why it was Hem that was here to call Sirex to her obligations. Sirex outranked him.

"Hem," Sirex's voice was strangely compassionate, "I will not be able to fulfill those _particular _duties this evening."

"But Sirex, it is important."

"_This _is important Hem. _This_ is my duty now. We will not desert Samara."

Kershean found himself watching the teepee, waiting for Hem to emerge, wondering what was happening inside. Then a whisper, quieter than the flutter of a butterfly wing and Kershean knew that something very secret had passed within its walls.

That was the second night.

During the day, Lanta, Shanti, and Sirex squired Samara everywhere, their sharp eyes taking in every aspect of the camp, guarding their charge against attacks. They ate their meals together. They bathed together. They only talked to each other, in hurried incomprehensible whispers.

Kershean wanted a minute alone with his mate, but then so did every other male. Now that the females had strayed into groups of twos and threes, some of the males gathered their courage to approach.

Arn was told, "We must protect Samara."

Hemath heard, "We will be heard."

And Jab, who's stomach had been rumbling again, "By the demon! If you are really that hungry go make something yourself!"

Kershean would not be deterred like Hemath, Arn and Jab who walked away with their figurative tails between their legs. At the beginning of this whole thing it had been Samara and he against the tribe, and for him, nothing had changed. He would stand by her. If she was planning something, he deserved to know!

But how to approach?

There was a moment when Samara sat alone on the pillows in the dining hall before her protectors had finished gathering their food, Kershean approached quickly, "Samara," he reached out to wrap one curl around a finger, "I have missed you." She looked up at him, her soft smile warming him to the core.

"Your eyes are tired," he eased himself onto the pillow beside her and stroked her cheeks. He had not touched her in days. He almost forgot what it felt like. Samara turned red, "I haven't been sleeping well," he confessed.

"Neither have I," she admitted, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

"I could protect you, Samara." His senses prickled unexpectedly and he looked up to see his pillow flanked by Shanti and Lanta, trays laden with food, their faces hostile.

"Kershean, it is better if Samara is protected by the females. You should leave now."

Kershean glared up at Lanta, "I will not leave until Samara asks me to." He turned back to his mate, "Do you want me to leave?" He asked softly.

"No. I would like it if we could spend some little time together."

"Samara!" Lanta exclaimed.

"No mom, this is my revolution. Do Not forget that." Her mother glared at her, her nostrils flaring, but Samara did not back down, and finally Lanta sighed,

"Not long though. There is a real danger from the council if we do not remain constantly vigilant."

Samara leaned in to Kershean's ear, "She has really found her zeal for this. I'm sorry if it angers you."

"I understand." _Somewhat._ "I just wish we didn't have to be apart."

"It is important." Her lips pursed stubbornly.

Kershean raised a finger to those lips, smoothing them, "All the females keep saying that. But the males who already support you do not understand the need for this continued separation."

"We are hoping that if the females isolate themselves long enough, the males will go to Adar and Pithe and convince them that destroying the humans is not worth the price of being forever apart."

"But Pithe and Adar…"

"Are only two…they cannot sustain their opinions in the face of the rest of the tribe."

Kershean puffed air out his nose. So that's what they had planned, "You should have told someone all of this."

"And risk our secrets being revealed?" Lanta spoke from above Kershean's shoulder. He had forgotten she was still standing there, "We do not know which males willingly spy for the council; they would betray us!"

"And you suspected me?" Kershean was disbelieving, and angry. He stood and faced Lanta, "If you want us to be your messengers you will have to trust someone!"

A hand touched Kershean's arm. Ready to shrug it off, he looked down; it was Samara's, "I trust you, Kershean. Franken and Hem also. With the three of you dispersing the message into the ears of the other disgruntled males, my father and yours will have to eventually give in."

"Why did you not tell me of this before?"

Her eyes were merry, and Kershean frowned at her sudden humor, still learning how to be teased, "I've been waiting for you to come visit. Every time the flap opens I expect it to be you. But you didn't. I'm glad you are here now." Her finger pushed lightly into his flesh and then drew a quick picture, a heart.

And Kershean, knowing what that meant, ignored her guards and pressed his lips to her cheek, inhaling the sweet fragrance at her neck, "Me too," he murmured.

That evening, Kershean didn't watch the teepee for he had work to do, things to decide. He could request and audience with his father or Pithe. Tell them of his concerns. No, too direct. They knew he would always support Samara, that his protection of her would only cease with his death. They would never believe his words to be legitimate. So it would have to come from someone they trusted. Someone who would never undermine their authority.

Jab? They might listen to him, but their hierarchical thinking would dismiss him as being too beneath them.

Hem? Perhaps. While he was of impeccable lineage, Hem wasn't the best at following directions. He often did things in his own time and his own way. Hem would be suspected and inevitably discounted by Adar and Pithe, just like Kershean.

Through the trees, Kershean suddenly heard a commotion, a voice he recognized, raised in anger. But what did Master Kennon have to be angry about?

Kershean carefully picking his way through the snow, arriving at the scene undetected, "…and furthermore, you are my mate and will listen to me!"

"You have deluded yourself long enough Kennon," his mate Kels said, "I will not obey you when it goes against my conscience."

"You are female! You don't have a conscience." Kershean immediately cringed at such words. As one of the more modernized males of the tribe Master Kennon would never have spouted off such nonsense if he hadn't been so angry.

As it was, the damage had been done, Kels cheeks had inflated to monstrously reddened proportions, she looked like she would pop at any second, "You will leave!"

"But it is our special night!"

"Never," she spit at him. Master Kennon reeled back as though he had been struck. Kels voice was suddenly soft and soothing, "Just go Kennon. Please." She turned and disappeared back into the teepee, letting the fur flap close behind her.

For a second, Master Kennon looked like he might try and follow, but instead, he turned on his heel and began striding away. Kershean hurried up to him, remembering Master Kennon's confrontation with Franken a few evenings before. "Master Kennon?"

Master Kennon turned towards Kershean, his face lined with anxiety, "Yes, what is it Kershean?"

"Have Pithe and Adar changed their minds about the extermination?"

Master Kennon looked at him, his eyes narrowed, "None of the leaders have changed their positions."

Kershean kept his face blank, not wanting Master Kennon to suspect the female plot, "Perhaps it would be wise to think on it. The _females _are determined in their stubbornness."

Master Kennon eyes became owlish, "This is why…they are doing this because…" his arms flapped uselessly, "No," he shook his head, "No, it cannot be done. The others would never agree. Why would you think this is what the females are demanding?"

Kershean refused to answer, instead he said, "Think on it, Master. Their seclusion occurred right after Samara made her demands. The events cannot be unconnected."

Master Kennon's forehead wrinkled, "Yes." He finally admitted, "You are right, I suppose." He shrugged his shoulders, "Their arguments are useless though." He looked back at the teepee that Kels had so recently marched back into.

Kershean heard Master Kennon softly sigh and he raised an eyebrow, "Are they? I have been watching. There are several males who are already disgruntled. They want their mates back. If…nay…when they change their stance on the human extermination the dissenters will have a strong majority. _We _might find ourselves outnumbered." The only way to convince Master Kennon would be for him to believe that Kershean was on the side of the council. He hoped that if Samara ever found out what he had said, she would understand the game he had been forced to play.

Master Kennon quickly tabulated the number of dissenters in his head, "They would carry their point."

Kershean nodded, "And it would get violent. Kin against Kin. Is that really what we want?"

"They would fight us over this?" Master Kennon, though a skilled warrior, was not violent by nature.

"I believe they would." Kershean did not bother adding that it would surely be Pithe or Adar who would start the fight. He did not want to disillusion Master Kennon so completely. _Let Adar and Pithe do that themselves._ "Is the destruction of a people who have not hunted us in millennia, really worth the blood of our own?"

Kershean kept his eyes wide and innocent, but Master Kennon did not look at him. Instead his eyes were still focused on the teepee of the females, watching the steam rise up from it, "And if we back down…Kels will return to me?" It was spoken so low, that Kershean suspected Master Kennon was not even aware of what he had voiced.

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**One more chapter and then an epilogue! They are already written-just need an edit-so I'll have them up by the end of the week!**


	22. Chapter 21

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**Chapter 21**

Master Kennon was a levelheaded Neanderthal. As a trainer of the young, he had to be. It was painstaking work. His charges had to be taught to silence their footfalls, have the patience to stalk a predator, and the wisdom to listen to him, their elder, their master teacher.

The egotistical Pithe and fiery Adar were not meant for such work. Perhaps Franken could have done it if he'd had the inclination. But he had not and Master Kennon with his never-ending patience had taught Hem, Kershean, Sirex, and even Daemon all he knew. And now he thought of what Kershean had told him, taught him, the evening before.

His anger at the humans had never been the same as Pithe's or Adar's. He had been a baby when the change had occurred, and though his parents had been killed by the humans he had been too young to truly be affected. He had gone along with it, because that was what the leaders asked. He taught his scouts to obey. He could not do anything less himself. But now, thinking of the battle that Kershean had foreseen, he decided that something would have to be done. Neanderthal should never fight Neanderthal. He could sense the unrest among the others, Kershean was right, a war was coming.

He knew Pithe's habit of rising early, but Pithe was not his target. Pithe was an extremist, narcissistic, and unreasonable. Nothing would convince Pithe he was in error. He would never see anything beyond his own bulbous forehead.

Adar on the other hand…while he had the more unpredictable temper, he was a warrior, he understood the costs of war. He could probably be convinced to see reason. He could not want such tragedy among their people!

Master Kennon decided it best to confront Adar _after_ he had taken his morning meal. He would be more accommodating after eating and Pithe-because he rose and dined early- would be long gone from the dining hall and unable to hinder their discussion.

He caught the tribal leader just as he exited, potatoes warm and comfortable in his belly, "Leader Adar, I wish to speak."

Adar stopped and audibly sighed, "Do you know how many times I have been approached in the last few days? 'Leader Adar?' 'Leader Adar!' I am beginning to tire of my own name."

"Then you know what it is the females' desire."

"Of course! I am not stupid!" Master Kennon frowned at that. What was Adar insinuating?

He pressed onwards anyway, "Our tribe is ill at ease. Would it not be wise to give into their demands?"

Adar placed a hand on Master Kennon's shoulder, "Kennon," Master Kennon tensed at so familiar an address. Only Kels was allowed to call him Kennon without the appellation! "I will tell you what I have told the others. It will blow over. The females cannot restrict themselves for so long. Their minds are not complex enough. It will blow over." As Adar moved away his head high, lightly chuckling, Master Kennon watched him, wondering if perhaps it wasn't the females with the simple minds.

The longer he thought on it, the faster he walked, returning to his teepee, brushing his fur "door" aside. He went to a corner, to a pile of small wrapped objects and selected the one at the very bottom. Inside it rested a rock shard-long and thin and once sharp-now dulled with age. He began to pound at it, sharpening the edge until it cut effortlessly into the calloused skin of his thumb. Satisfied, he tied it to his arm, just beneath his cotton sheath. If there was a war, he would need to be prepared. Now if he could only decide which side to fight on.

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A se'en night later, the whole world imploded.

"Shanti!" Adar bellowed, "I demand you cease this foolishness and hand over the traitor to me now!"

Not a single syllable, nor any other sound exited from the females' teepee. Outside, the men were gathering, some at the front and defiant, others cowering in the distance, but still, there. Master Kennon did not see Franken, Hem, or Kershean. He wondered if like him they were standing on the edge of things, out of sight, out of the way. Master Kennon sniffed at the air. Past the aroma of the irate Adar, and the smells of the males, nervous and jumpy, he caught a whiff of female. They were in there!

Adar knew it too; he stalked at the front of the teepee, "Shanti! As your mate, I demand that you exit and submit."

Still no response. Not a single breath of air exited. Adar opened his mouth to bellow again, when suddenly, the teepee heaved itself up high as twenty pairs of hands pushed it into the night. And before Adar and the men gathered, stood the women, wrapped in furs with set-in-stone countenances. In each hand was a spear, solid and sharp, and over their breasts hung a jerkin of thick leather. Adar had his answer.

"What is this?" he demanded.

As one voice the females responded, it was eerie and commanding, "This, Leader Adar is our response-_You _will submit, or die."

Adar forehead wrinkled and he clenched his fists, "That is treason!"

The women ignored him, "Who will join us?" Who will fight for what is right? The humans are not our enemies. _You_ are!" Twenty spears pointed directly at Adar's chest.

Adar backed up slightly, "You cannot do this. You will not."

Not a spear flinched, "The humans are not our enemies," the women repeated.

"No! Our women are! Do you not see my brothers? They would destroy us all!" Adar spat. From his robes a hand emerged, and from his hand a sharpened rock—much like the one concealed on Master Kennon's person—flew into the crowd of women. A cry was heard and a body crumpled within.

Adar looked unconcerned, "Now you will submit!"

A cry began from the middle of the women, growing in volume as they chanted, "She will not have died in vain. We will avenge our sister!" A spear landed in the ground directly between Adar's feet. Whoever had thrown it had deliberately missed. "We will not miss again," the females' voice promised.

Adar backed away again as another spear flew at him, impaling his foot, he cried out before ripping the spear up and throwing it to the side. One look at the females and Adar turned on his heal and began running away, his furs fluttering behind him. A coward Master Kennon decided.

A baby cried: Whoever had died had been reborn. From the turmoil came the voice of Kels, and Master Kennon breathed in relief. "Tisha, take her," she commanded, "Take her to Franken, he will look after her."

A banshee's cry rose from the group, "Artha, Artha, Artha!" They cried and the new body of the sweet Artha was spirited away from the fight. Tisha ran fast, past the men who stood frozen in shock, and into the nearby stand of teepees. Master Kennon followed at a close distance, guarding Tisha and the baby. He had made his decision.

Franken sat alone, his fingers clumsily trying to tan a deer hide, he looked up immediately at Tisha's approach. "Tisha, what…?" But then he looked at her arms, at the baby who had Artha's voice and her unusually shaped eyes, "Artha." His eyes glinted, "My Artha! Who has done this?" Tisha did not answer. She did not need to. Franken threw his work to the side, grasping the baby to his chest, "He will pay for this."

"Yes," Tisha nodded, "But you must care for Artha. She needs you. No one else. If something were to happen to you both…"

She left the rest unsaid, and Franken bared his teeth, "He deserves the fate of my strong blade."

"He will meet something worse before the night is over," Tisha promised. "Care for Artha?" She touched his arm soothing his pain.

Finally Franken nodded, the fight leaving him, "Do as you promised. I will care for her."

It had been the work of a moment and Master Kennon found himself back with the rest when the first of the arrows and rocks began flying from out of the trees. Several of the men had remained and were now firmly absconded by the sides of their mates.

Adar had made an unwise move.

The women and their mates all ducked into themselves, their hands raised over their heads for protection, "Females! Submit or be destroyed!" Pithe's voice rang out from high up in the trees. He and Adar must have planned this whole thing. Master Kennon ripped out his rock shard and went running for the trees. And he wasn't the only one. While most of the women remained, silhouettes of others stole into the moonlight and vanished under the thick spruce giants. The women were decoys, while the other's subdued the threat!

Master Kennon slowed his footfalls, looking for his rebel kinsman, knowing they would continue their attack as long as the women remained defiant. Not far from him, he saw the hair of a woman flowing in the moonlight. She was picking her way expertly along. Sirex!

She stopped suddenly and sniffed at the air. Behind her two figures stopped as well. One held his spear in his left hand, the other's rested across his shoulders. Master Kennon shook his head. Kershean and Hem…he had never been able to cure them of their predilections. After a slight twitch of her head, Sirex and her companions set off adjacent to Master Kennon's position.

And he continued forward. Obviously they had some sort of plan. He would leave them to it. He heard a rustle ahead of him and watched as a few rocks were launched. Someone had a rock sling. He moved carefully behind that someone. It was Jab, his spear lying innocently at his side. Master Kennon snuck behind the larger man until he was right on top of him. Jab sensed his presence too late. Just as his head began to turn, Master Kennon's arm shot out, gripping Jab at the neck and squeezing. Jab's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed, unconscious. Master Kennon left the body where it lay. Elverna would straighten out her mate later.

He crouched low, as he felt the forest rumble under his feet, and then the voice of Adar sounded from a distance away. "Release me!" A mighty tree shook as Adar resisted, "I am you leader, you cannot do this to me!" he screeched.

The ground was abruptly still and then Kershean, his voice steeled, called out, "We have Leader Adar. Cease this, and we will settle things." So Kershean and the others had found their prey! The rocks and arrows continued to fly through the air unimpeded, "So be it!" Kershean's voice was loud and clear. Master Kennon heard something being dragged out of the trees. He wondered what the females would do now. But he dared not wait to find out! As the battle still raged, he moved on.

Ahead, he heard a few more scuffles, and then from behind, "That idiot!" Lanta called, "I'll take care of him myself!" She stormed past Master Kennon, followed by a group of five other females. No longer would they sit on the defensive. Master Kennon found himself smiling at their gall. Apparently they had been underestimated for too long.

He moved after them, cringing at how they held their spears, more like walking sticks then weapons. Save Lanta, who was poking hers into the bark of innocent trees. "Pithe! There you are. Stand up and face me like the male you _wish_ you were." Lanta stood tall and proud over her mate who's arm had frozen mid-throw.

"I have no weapon," Pithe was trying to be calm, but his voice was pitched a bit higher than normal.

Lanta nodded at Shanti who stood just behind her and the younger women tossed her spear towards Pithe. "Now you do." They squared off silently, their spears pounding against each other's-the only thing that indicated their hatred.

The other females and Master Kennon backed away, allowing them to settle their differences. Little did Master Kennon realize how that decision would haunt him later.

Not far from their contest, the massive girth of Geth loomed, his mouth sneered as he growled a battle cry and rushed forward. Geth had never been quite tame, his only loyalty was to Adar. Geth leapt for Shanti, the smallest of the women. Surprisingly, she maintained her composure, quickly rolling away from him. The other women jumped at him, clinging to arms and legs, pulling him down to the ground. A meaty hand tugged one free, flinging her into a sage bush. She struggled to rise before collapsing. The cry of a baby sounded, and Shanti rushed to her, picking her up and darted out of the trees, her new charge cradled in her arms.

The other females weren't faring well either, though their grips were still strong. Master Kennon bent his knees, rocked forward onto his heels and catapulted himself directly into Geth's back, sending the mammoth-sized man to the ground with a mighty thud.

Before Master Kennon had even climbed to his feet, two spears were pointed at Geth's head. "Do you surrender?" Elverna asked.

Geth spit at their feet, "You are not my master."

The female Pad looked towards Elverna, her eyes wide, "Elverna? I don't think I can do this."

Geth smirked and made to rise, but swiftly Elverna's spear caught him in the neck, "Thankfully I can!" She twisted the spear in, pushing it past flesh and cartilage, "He never liked my cooking." Geth fell, and with a flash of light, his baby counterpart lay. "Shanti, take him to his mate." Shanti nodded and took Geth up in her arms.

Master Kennon started as he heard the voice of his mate shriek, "That is cheating Adar and you know it!"

Something stirred in Master Kennon's belly and he flew back towards the teepees, the very last place he had seen his mate. Now he knew how Franken felt. If Adar dared lay a hand on _his _Kels…

But the scene that greeted him was not what he had suspected. Instead of Kels in mortal danger, Kershean and his father faced each other, their spears high, menacing each other. Kershean had challenged his father!

Surrounding the duel was the majority of the camp, watching in silence, save Kels who was still clucking at Adar, "You and I both know the rules Adar."

Master Kennon looked at his mate. She looked tired and discomposed. She might know the rules, but Master Kennon doubted that Adar would spare an ear for a female.

"And I know them as well," Master Kennon spoke as he placed himself in the circle directly in Adar's sight. Adar's face drained of all color as he regarded the master. "You will listen to my wife."

Adar's jaw fell open at such a disregard of his policies. Master Kennon dared defy him! He recovered quickly though, turning back to his son, twisting and swinging his spear, his lame foot his only hindrance.

Kershean blocked each of his moves and then seeing an opening he leapt at his father, his spear cutting into Adar's arm. "You would kill your own father?" Adar asked as he pushed his son's spear away.

Kershean froze, squinting in agony as he considered his options. He had always been the dutiful son.

Adar pounced just as Kershean's spear lowered, knocking him easily to the ground. "Well that is a shame, for I have no compunctions about ending a cycle of yours."

"No!" Samara cried. Master Kennon's face whipped around, seeing an arrow fly from the bow in her hand, finding its target in the flesh of Adar's thigh.

Adar stumbled, turning towards her, ignoring the prostrate form of his son. "Female! You will pay for your insolence!" Adar moved towards her-unconcerned by the blood trickling from his leg-his spear raised pointed directly at her stomach, "You will suffer!"

No one saw Kershean roll to his feet and grab his spear. No one saw him advance on his father, his eyes flashing and murderous. But they all heard his voice, soft but deadly, "You are not my father anymore!" And with a stab, he pierced his father through the chest.

Adar fell to his knees, and with his final breath, "This changes nothing!" Kershean stood over his form, his spear clattering uselessly against the frozen tundra.

"I had to." Samara suddenly rushed to his side, wrapping him into her arms,

"I know."

The rest averted their eyes. A baby screamed in terror from the trees, and Master Kennon and several of the others rushed towards the sound eager to escape the grieving couple.

Nestled as a sacrifice in the sharp branches of a spruce lay a baby. Standing over it, ignoring its cries was Pithe, his spear readied to pierce the young thing through the heart. "Pithe!" Master Kennon called appalled, "You will not kill an innocent baby!" His rock shard raised, ready to be thrown. He could not miss.

Pithe looked up, his eyes red and crazed, "Only a few more cycles to end and Lanta will not trouble me anymore."

His own wife? Master Kennon looked at the young body of Lanta, its skin dried and grey. She would not survive to see another cycle; that was certain. "I will not let you do it! You know it is not done!" He threw his shard, but Pithe surprisingly blocked it with his spear.

"She deserves it! After all of the trouble she has caused us! I will not be 'just Pithe' any longer!"

Master Kennon rushed towards him before the other male had even ceased speaking, disarming him, and pushing him swiftly into the solid trunk of a tree, "You are beaten Pithe." He held Pithe's own spear to his throat, "Give up!"

"Not while I still draw breath!" Pithe lunged for Master Kennon.

Mistaking the angle, he impaled himself onto the spear. Crying out in anger, even as the life left his eyes, he swung out with his hands, scratching Master Kennon across one arm. Master Kennon caught his body as he teetered on the brink of death, "I can help you Pithe. Only admit that it is over."

Pithe, his eyes rolling back managed to spit on the ground, "You will have to end me!"

Master Kennon let his body drop to the ground. Pithe wreathed in agony, his cries burned forever in Master Kennon's ears. But still the master stood, spear at his side and waited for it to be over. When Pithe became a baby, Master Kennon raised his spear over him as Pithe's eyes widened. Just before he struck, he moved his hand away, the spear digging into the frozen ground instead, "No! No matter how much you deserve it." Master Kennon picked up the baby Pithe with one arm and Lanta with the other and began walking back to camp.

Ahead, Hem and Sirex revealed themselves, a baby in each of their arms. They looked to him, nodding at each of the babies he held.

"What of the battle?" Master Kennon's voice quavered as the weight of all that occurred settled.

Hem shook his head, refusing to answer, the same melancholy affecting him as well.

"It is done," Sirex finally said.

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**Epilogue will be up soon!**


	23. Epilogue

—**Thanks so much for reading and appreciating; your words and story alerts meant so much to me! Anne**

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**Epilogue**

"Kershean! You can't ask this of me!" I stood, legs apart, hands on my hips, the very picture of righteous indignation. "You cannot expect it."

Kershean blinked, "But Samara he is your father. Someone needs to care for him."

"I won't do it!"

"How can you be so…" he clamped his mouth shut quickly before he said something stupid.

"What, heartless? I didn't exactly see you chomping at the bit to raise your own father!"

"No but…"

"Don't you dare say it is different," I hissed. "He almost ended my mother! For good! You think that after that, I would still be the best one for the job?" Incredulous I shook my head at him.

"But who else will do it?"

"Send him to an orphanage. He obviously thought it was good enough for me."

"What if he talks?" Kershean was really pulling out all the weapons in his arsenal for this one.

I shrugged, unconcerned, "They lock him with the rest of the crazy people and throw away the key. He'll never be heard of again."

"But…"

"I refuse to care for him. To bring him into our family and raise him alongside our own child."

"Samara, he…" Kershean blinked, "What did you say? Are you…We're going to have a baby?" His cheeks were pink.

I nodded. "My mother confirmed it before she…" I blinked away the tears, "And I won't endanger our child. He is mad! We all know it."

Kershean bit at his lips considering, "Are you sure?"

"I never want to see him again."

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Early the next morning, Shanti, Franken and Elverna set off with baby Geth, Adar, and Pithe. With Adar's ominous promise still ringing in our ears, we all decided it was best if he was separated from the rest of the tribe, permanently. And Pithe and Geth, as his two generals, would share his fate. They would be spread across the globe where they would never find each other.

The rest of us gathered a few supplies, and filled out pockets with gold and Euros. There was much more than any of us would have suspected. Enough to ensure all of our comforts for a very long time.

Some, like Kershean and I were headed for the city, going back to school. Or like Hem and Sirex, entering school Though they were not going to the same city as us, they wouldn't be too far away if we found ourselves in need of company.

Elverna, after she dropped off baby Geth would make her way to America, she said, to the wilds of Canada. Perhaps there would be someone there who enjoyed her cooking? Jab would follow her meekly and quietly.

Franken decided on Germany, he wanted to work in a butcher's shop and he had a preference for sauerkraut, he said. Artha went with him, swaddled against his back. Once again, he would wait patiently for her to grow up.

And Master Kennon? He liked the look of China, wanted to learn what this Marital Arts was all about. He meant Martial Arts of course, but no one bothered to correct him.

And as for the rest? Some would live in the wild, others were set on immigrating to distant cities.

And so, that is how with a little bit of pride and prejudice overcome, the Neanderthal came to live among us. Well most of them anyway. But that's another story!

**The End**

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**Perhaps you are wondering where the idea from this story came from? Well…back in high school I had this early morning class with a friend of mine with beady black eyes and an extremely large forehead. **

**Hey! Don't criticize it was a VERY early morning class! **

**Anyways, after a year of sitting beside him, and even though I knew he was smart, I was still certain that somehow he was descended from the Neanderthals. After all, no one really knew what happened to the Neanderthals, only that they were gone. **

**This idea percolated for years until voila, The Forever trilogy idea was born-and Samara just wouldn't stop jabbering in my head until I wrote her story.**


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